


Butterflies and Hurricanes

by bioticnerfherder



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Sexual Content, Jedi Ben Solo, Lightside au, M/M, Original Character(s), Senator Hux, Slow Burn, a LOT of galactic politics though, don’t let the summary fool you this actually features an ensemble cast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-11-08 18:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 84,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticnerfherder/pseuds/bioticnerfherder
Summary: The Empire may have fallen thirty years ago, but Senator Armitage Hux knows peace in the galaxy is under threat – and the Resistance are the only ones doing anything about it. But working with General Leia Organa would be a lot easier if he didn't have to deal with her smug Jedi son.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> wew lads. This AU has actually been in the works for almost a year! FINALLY I’m actually writing/posting it. The idea was to give little Armie and Ben the chance to be something other than bad. Like Luke says in Empire’s End: “the brighter the light, the darker the shadow” – one’s potential to be good is equal to one’s potential to be bad. THAT BEING SAID: this fic is MOSTLY compliant to the Aftermath trilogy, Bloodline, and Before the Awakening (it’s as compliant as it can be seeing as this is an AU lol). Naturally, spoilers for those books ahead.  
> Chapter-specific warnings will be in the END NOTES of each chapter, and do feel free to let me know if I’ve missed anything! The fic title comes from [Butterflies and Hurricanes by Muse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIZ-iYNRHWE). And because this is a slow burn, it will take a while for this fic to really earn its explicit rating ;)  
> I also need to thank my beta, the incomparable [Gefionne](http://gefionne.tumblr.com/), without whom this fic would probably eternally gather dust in my WIP folder. Thank you so much, Gef!! <3

Armitage Hux is fourteen when his world is turned upside down - for the second time. (He will joke, later on, that perhaps that second change was his life turning back the right way up.)

The First Order is no longer safe for him. The _coup d’état_ by Snoke is a success, and the shift in High Command will not be in his favour. Brendol has been given higher authority, much to Armitage’s chagrin - and without Armitage’s personal squadron, who have been his since he was just five, he is unprotected, alone, and very much in danger.

The decision is simple: Run. Adapt. Survive.

Armitage packs only what he absolutely needs into a single bag and heads to the hangar bay in the middle of delta shift, hijacking a supply shuttle headed for the Outer Rim. Once the ship’s automated pilot has transported him safely out of the Unknown Regions, he pulls it out of hyperspace and guts all of its tracking equipment, dumping everything but necessary items by an asteroid field before plotting a new course.

He does not set course for Dantooine, current seat of the Senate in the New Republic’s ever-rotating capital. Nor does he set course for Chandrila, the permanent home of the Chancellor and her closest friend. Landing on either of these planets in an unmarked Lambda-class shuttle is suspect; he needs a discreet destination, one that will not fire at upon him on sight.

Armitage sincerely hopes the intel he sliced out of Brendol’s datapad regarding Yavin 4 is true: the New Jedi Order will surely _not_ attack someone seeking refuge on the moon they have made their home.

“Unmarked shuttle,” a voice hails him over the comm almost as soon as he breaks orbit. “You are attempting to land on a sanctuary moon. Unsanctioned landings are not permitted. Please state your identity and purpose.”

The datacube in his breast pocket suddenly feels ten times heavier, which is impossible since it hasn’t left his person since he loaded it.

“I am seeking refuge from the Unknown Regions,” Armitage says, his voice clear with words he practiced the entire flight here. “I need to speak with Luke Skywalker.”

“Your shuttle’s signature reads as ex-Imperial, last seen ten years ago. Please specify.”

“I am seeking refuge from the Unknown Regions,” he repeats. No need to spill his entire story or play all his cards yet; that would put him at a disadvantage.

The comm is silent for a long time. When it does sound again, it’s an older male voice on the other end.

“Our scanners detect no other lifeforms on your vessel. Land at these coordinates we’re transmitting. We’ll hear what you have to say, refuge-seeker.”

The clearing he lands in is some ways away from the impressive stone structures he flew over earlier, though he can just make out the top of the pyramids over the trees. Two hooded figures await him, faces masked by shadows, watching him from the edge of the clearing as he cautiously descends the shuttle’s ramp.

“Who are you?” the shorter figure asks. Her voice is clear and authoritative, even over the hissing of the cooling engines.

“My name is Armitage Hux,” he calls out to them. “I am seeking refuge from the Unknown Regions.”

“What are you seeking refuge _from?”_ she asks.

“I need to speak to Luke Skywalker,” Armitage says instead of answering the question.

The two figures exchange glances.

She tries again: “Why have you come to Yavin 4?”

Armitage answers this question honestly; there’s no harm in it. “The New Republic were more likely to shoot me out of the sky than offer me as much of an audience as you are now.”

“And?” the taller figure speaks, finally. “Why else?”

Hux recognises the voice: the second person he spoke to on the comm.

“I will tell _that_ to Luke Skywalker.”

“Are you trying to bargain with the Jedi?” the woman asks icily.

Armitage pats his breast pocket, making sure the datacube is still there. “Perhaps. But I also have information that is quite relevant to Luke Skywalker…and his sister.”

The two cloaked figures glance at each other again before the man steps forward, pulling off his hood. “And just how do you know that I have a sister?”

Armitage fishes the holocube out of his pocket, holding it tight but showing it off. “I know that, and _more.”_

* * *

Leia Organa arrives on planet the following afternoon.

Armitage was cautiously brought into a small building—a recent construction compared to the towering stone temple it sits beside—and left in a plain room after revealing the holocube. The room is unfurnished but for a cot, a table and two chairs, and the small attached refresher stall. He was brought a simple meal the night before and some jogan fruit this morning, both left on the table by an old protocol droid. He understands the caution; according to intel reports, the Imperial factions that did not make it to the Unknown Regions following the Battle of Jakku continued to wage skirmishes against the New Republic for quite some years. A cold war, of sorts. Armitage is simply glad to not have been arrested and turned over immediately.

Not that that couldn’t be coming. Skywalker simply brought him to the room, told him to wait, and said he would send for someone more equipped to offer Armitage refuge than he was.

It’s a pleasant surprise to see Leia Organa herself enter the room a few hours after his morning meal. Leia Organa, who is, according to First Order spies, now a prominent Senator of the New Republic. She looks older than all the propaganda holos, from back in the days of the Rebel Alliance, but those were the only images available on their meagre databases derived from the Imperial archives. Her hair is set in a crown-like braid circling her head _(She_ is _a princess, after all,_ Armitage thinks), a few strands of grey starting to streak brunette locks, and she is dressed casually: practical grey pants, white shirt, dark utility vest. Organa carries a datapad in one hand, and has a stern look on her face.

The air of authority surrounding her is almost palpable, and Armitage scrambles up to stand up from the cot.

She gestures at the table for him to sit. “So. I’m assuming you know who I am?”

He nods. “Yes.” He sits, watches her take the seat opposite him.

“And who are you?” she asks as she places her datapad down on the table.

Armitage swallows. He feels suddenly nervous, as if he wants to impress Organa. Which is ridiculous, because all he has to do is state his terms and hand over the datacube. He mentally kicks himself as a reminder to focus on the plan. “Armitage Hux.”

Organa tilts her head. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Where I’m from—”

“Which is?” she interrupts.

He clears his throat. “Formerly Arkanis. Hux is a very common surname there. The name predates even the Old Republic.”

“Why ‘formerly?’”

“Obviously, I didn’t come here from there. I’ve been in the Unknown Regions for some time.”

“Ah yes.” Organa leans forward, placing an elbow on the table and resting her chin on her knuckles. “What were you doing there? The Chiss and few others have traversed the Unknown successfully. That and...” Her other elbow lands on the table, her head now resting on both hands. “Why are you seeking refuge?”

Armitage swallows. Here comes the important part.

“A large group of Imperial forces remain in the Unknown Regions. They are regrouping, rebuilding.” He pulls out the datacube from his breast pocket and places it on the table in front of him, resting his wrists on either side and steepling his fingers above it, as if a protective cage. “This datacube contains valuable information regarding the remnant that now calls itself the First Order. I wish to exchange it for refuge.”

Organa studies him for a moment. “You wish to defect.”

“If you prefer to call it that, then yes, I suppose.”

She sighs, lifting her chin and setting her hands flat on the wood. “And why come here? Why come to Yavin 4, instead of Dantooine?”

Armitage pouts. “I came in an Imperial shuttle. I would have been shot out of the sky.”

“I’m very certain they would not have attacked if you’d flagged their comms with surrender.”

“But,” he insists, “they would have arrested me immediately for being the child of a war criminal. An Imperial rank as high as commandant would be flagged as that, no?”

“That’s not how the law of the galaxy works now.” She frowns. “The New Republic does not punish children for the crimes of their parents. So my question still remains: why come to the New Jedi Order instead of the New Republic?”

Ah. Perfect. Exactly the question he was waiting for; it’s time to play his last card. His winning card, he hopes.

“Because,” Armitage starts, carefully and slowly, “there is other quite sensitive information on this datacube. Information directly pertinent to you and your brother Luke Skywalker…” Organa opens her mouth to respond but Armitage continues over her: “And most importantly, your father. Your _real_ father. Anakin Skywalker.”

Organa snaps her mouth shut.

“Anakin Skywalker, also known as—”

Organa fixes him with a look. “That’s quite enough, Armitage.”

He nods. “Then you understand why I came here, to Luke, instead of anyone else.”

She sighs, reaching up with one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I do. I suppose I should thank you.” After a moment, she returns her hand to the table and meets Armitage’s gaze once more. “Tell me more about this contingent in the Unknown Regions. How did they get there? What are their numbers? Do they have future plans to return to the known galaxy?”

“They do.” He removes his hands from the table, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs. “I downloaded as much as I could onto the datacube. Drafts of plans, fleet information, troop numbers. I can’t say how long the information will remain relevant, but it will be a better starting point than nothing.”

She frowns. “But _how_ did a group of Imperial loyalists escape to the Unknown Regions, a group large enough to rally and make plans to return?”

“The Unknown Regions were the Emperor’s contingency. A safe star-course was plotted over many years.”

Organa quirks an eyebrow. “I thought Operation Cinder was Palpatine’s contingency plan. I witnessed it myself, first hand, on Naboo.”

Armitage has never heard of Operation Cinder, but he doesn’t let Organa know this. “The Unknown Regions were the main contingency plans,” he maintains. “It was to regroup, regain power, and eventually return. The Emperor had _many_ contingencies. Someone who plots his rise to power for as long as he did does not relinquish their grip on the galaxy without every effort to…not.”

“Hmm.” Organa seems to nod reluctantly. “You raise a good point. I continue to underestimate _Palpatine”—_ she emphasises his name, as if admonishing Armitage for using his title—“even a decade after his death.”

She quiets then, narrowing her eyes and scrutinising him for a long moment. Finally, she exhales through her nose and lifts a hand to rest her chin on once more. “Tell me.” She taps the table with her other hand, once, twice. “What’s in it for you, Armitage?”

“A new start.” is all he responds.

Organa considers this before changing tactics. “Tell me about yourself, Armitage. Your father was a commandant, you said?”

“Commandant Brendol Hux, of the Arkanis Academy,” he responds almost on autopilot.

She nods. “You’re what, fourteen? You were born before the Empire fell, were you not?”

“I was. I was born the year the first Death Star was destroyed. I lived under the care of my mother until I was forcibly taken away with Brendol.”

“You didn’t live with your father?”

Armitage shakes his head. “Brendol was…was not married to my mother. I was born out of wedlock.”

“A love affair?”

He huffs. “A one time tryst. With the kitchen woman of a wealthy neighbour.”

Organa raises an eyebrow but doesn’t follow up on the topic. “You lived with your mother, but you were taken from Arkanis with Brendol, and somehow ended up in the Unknown Regions...with this large Imperial remnant?”

“In short, yes.” Armitage shrugs. “I was snatched out of my bed by some bounty hunter, under orders to sneak Brendol and I off Arkanis during the final days of the siege.”

“To avoid falling under Republic control, I presume.”

He nods. “The bounty hunter collected Brendol, who directed him to me, and then delivered the both of us to the _Ravager_.”

“The _Ravager_?” She tilts her head. “Wasn’t that ship under the command of…Rae Sloane?”

“ _Grand Admiral_ Rae Sloane,” he grits out. “Yes, yes it _was_. Until the traitor Gallius Rax left her for dead on Chandrila.”

“Ah.” Organa regards him for a moment, and he releases the tension he didn’t realise he was holding in his shoulders. “I presume Rae Sloane is a bit of a sore topic for you, then?”

Armitage simply stares back at her.

“Mm,” she hums and moves on, apparently having gotten the response she wanted. “So, if you were on the _Ravager_ , you were on Jakku, then?”

“Yes. For…a long time.”

“How long?”

Armitage looks down at his hands on the table, which have started to sweat more heavily. “Months. Maybe a year. I’m not even quite sure. I was young, and we were there a long time. Time has a way of losing itself in a wasteland like that.”

When he looks up, he thinks he sees something like sadness flash in Organa’s eyes, at odds with the headstrong expression on her face.

“You certainly know how to weave words together, Armitage,” she remarks.

“Brendol may have despised me, but sharing a name with an uneducated dunce would be beneath him. He made sure I had good schooling. Privately, of course; he didn’t want his bastard in the public eye of Arkanis high society.”

Organa purses her lips. “And you do seem to know your history very well. Both Imperial and Alliance.”

Armitage casts his eyes down once more. “I had a good teacher. And an even better mentor.”

The room is silent a long time, and neither meets the other’s gaze, before Organa speaks up again.

“Sloane was your mentor, wasn’t she? She protected you when your father did not.” Armitage nods. “She led her Imperials into the Unknown Regions. And now, now she’s been overthrown, and you fear for your own life in her absence.”

Armitage finally meets the senator’s eyes. “Can you use the Force, like your brother? Like your father before you? Have you plucked all of that from my head?”

Organa smirks at him for a brief moment, entertained, before her expression returns to neutral. “No, I’m not quite as skilled as Luke. There’s a reason _he_ is the Jedi and I am the Senator; we’re both doing our duty to the galaxy in the way we know best. But I didn’t become one of the youngest members of the Imperial Senate by chance. I know a thing or two.” The smirk makes a fleeting reappearance, gone almost as soon as it crosses her lips. “What happened, Armitage? What happened, that you feared for your life enough to abandon everything you grew up around?”

They stare at each other for a long moment before Armitage tilts his head down and looks at his hands once more, which have started fidgeting of their own accord. He thinks of his personal guard, _Rae’s_ guards, their chrome-plated armour setting them apart from other stormtroopers. He remembers agreeing with his father for the first time in his life, both acknowledging that the squadron had served Armitage and Rae well over the years, that the troopers deserved promotions. Armitage didn’t realise the promotions meant shipping them off to command positions at various outposts across their limited territories, didn’t even think for a second that the troopers stationed to replace them would be in Brendol’s —and Snoke’s—pocket.

Snoke did not even give Sloane the benefit of an honourable death: shot point-blank in her own bed, by the common trooper posted outside her quarters.

“Rae Sloane is dead,” Armitage says finally. “There was a coup. And its success is partially my fault.”

“You think they will punish you for being involved?”

“No,” he says coldly. “They will punish me for _not_ being involved.”

He looks up and sees the moment Organa understands. “You were too close with the old powers for the new to be comfortable keeping you around.”

Once again, the room falls silent as they study each other.

“Well,” Organa sighs. “That’s that, then. What do you know of your mother, Armitage? We could look for her, put you in contact with her.”

“That…won’t be necessary.” Armitage swallows.

“You don’t expect to live alone, do you?” Organa looks at him in confusion.

Armitage inhales slowly through his nose. “She’s dead. Perished at the hands of Mercurial Swift when he and Brendol came to collect me.” He frowns. “She did not want them to take me.”

Organa is silent for a beat, sadness in her eyes as she regards him. She looks away, nodding, and she picks up the datapad to type in a few things. “That’s alright, then. I wanted to keep an eye on you anyway, so you will have to live on Chandrila. You’ll need a new name, too, unless you want to be associated with the commandant.”

Armitage shakes his head. “Like I said, Hux is a common enough name on Arkanis to not be associated with _him._ It should be safe enough to keep my own.”

“Hmm.” Organa furrows her brows. “I suppose you’re right. _Many_ records were destroyed in the final siege of Arkanis. I’m pretty sure to this day undocumented citizens are still popping up and granted new documents, no questions asked. Should be easy enough to get you some identicards.” She taps something else into her datapad.

“Yes. And, anyway,” he adds casually, “there are no records of an Armitage Hux. I never existed officially. Brendol made sure I was…kept under wraps. The private education and—”

“And living with your mother,” Organa finishes for him.

Armitage nods.

The door to the room opens, Skywalker appearing in the doorway as if summoned.

“I have a few holocalls to make before I can promise you anything,” Organa says to Armitage, nodding briefly at her brother as she picks up the datacube from the table and stands. “But I’ll make it happen. Thank you for the datacube, Armitage. And welcome to the New Republic.”

She walks out of the room then, exchanging another look with Skywalker. Armitage wonders briefly if this is how they communicate: wordlessly, through the Force.

Skywalker approaches Armitage, producing a meiloorun from his robes and placing it on the table. “She’ll take care of you, Armitage. Nobody has ever stood in Leia’s way.”

“Except bureaucracy?”

The Jedi master actually smiles at him, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “She usually finds her way around that, too. Eat the fruit. I will go help her make preparations. Your shuttle will have to stay here, but we’ll take care of it.” He places a hand on Armitage’s shoulder. “I do not think we will see each other for a long time, Armitage. But I am glad you came to us.” He turns to the doorway again, gesturing two young figures into the room. “Ben, Enyo, watch over our guest for a few moments please.”

Skywalker follows after his twin, leaving Armitage alone with those he assumes to be two young padawan.

The boy is younger, possibly around ten, and has large ears sticking out from an unruly tuft of dark hair, complete with a single thin braid that falls over his shoulder. He’s tall for his age, but has yet to fill out his height; his scrawny limbs hardly take up any room in the black tunic and pants he wears. He has a look of determination in his eyes as if this task set to him is of utmost importance. The girl, a green-skinned twi’lek, looks to be about Armitage’s age, but he can’t say for sure with non-humans; he has limited experience with them. Instead of a braid, she wears a beaded necklace around her lekku, a strand falling over her shoulder like the boy’s. Her expression is guarded, more suspicious of Armitage, as she regards him with deep green eyes, her arms folded in front of her sand-coloured tunic.

The trio stare at each other for a few minutes before the boy deigns to speak:

“Who are you?”

“No one,” Armitage responds. “Just seeking a new home.”

“You arrived in an Imperial ship,” the twi’lek girl says, scowling. “Are you Imp?”

Armitage matches her scowl. “The Empire is dead. I watched it fall. Imperials don’t exist anymore.”

She seems unimpressed. “My parents fought and killed people like you during the war.”

“Yeah!” The kid crosses his arms, mimicking the position of his fellow padawan. “We’re not afraid of you!”

“I should hope not,” Armitage barely suppresses the urge to roll his eyes at this child. “I read once that Jedi are not supposed to feel either fear or hate.”

“You know nothing of the New Jedi Order.” The twi’lek raises a dark eyebrow at him in challenge.

“I suppose not,” Armitage concedes. “But I hope to learn more if I’m to live on Chandrila. About both the New Republic _and_ the New Jedi Order.”

The two padawans’ eyes flash with surprise at the notion of Armitage living on Chandrila, but after exchanging a quick glance with each other, they adopt their neutral expressions once more. Sighing, Armitage begins chewing on the meiloorun Skywalker left him. The padawan watch him eat—he does his best not to spill any of the tart juice down his chin—until he finishes the last of the fruit. Then, the human boy speaks again:

“What’s your name?”

“Ben,” the twi’lek girl interrupts. “It’s pointless to talk to him.”

The child huffs. “He’s harmless, Enyo. I don’t sense any bad thoughts.”

“You didn’t see the rebellion. You were born into a galaxy where the Empire had already fallen.” The twi’lek, Enyo, tilts her chin at Armitage. “I don’t trust him.”

“Master Luke and my mother seem to trust him. We should give him a shot.”

She regards Ben for a long moment before she sighs.

Armitage’s mind catches up with him a few seconds later. “Wait, you— Did you just say your _mother_? Are you Senator Organa’s son?”

“Yeah.” Ben looks to him with an arrogant smirk on his lips. “What’s that to you?”

Armitage hums. “Nothing. I was just unaware she had a child.”

Ben points at him. “I’m not just a _kid_. And you should remember that, you…whatever your name is. You…you didn’t say. What’s your name?”

A good question.

Armitage was the son of Brendol and Yara. Armitage was a child of the Empire, fleeing the known galaxy with its defeat. Armitage was the alleged favourite of Imperator Rae Sloane, and the rumoured heir to the First Order. Armitage was meant to lead the First Order to greatness, was meant to restore order to the chaotic galaxy. But he _left;_ he _abandoned_ the Unknown Regions, abandoned the life he was dragged into at age four. _He_ is building a new life, carving a new path for himself that Armitage could not have even vaguely foreseen.

He is no longer Armitage. “Hux,” he decides. “My name is Hux.”

* * *

Hux is fourteen when his world is turned upside down for the second time. He will be thirty-three when it happens again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings for character death, non-explicit description of character’s murder, mention of child abuse
> 
> thank you so much for reading! come say hi on [tumblr](http://bioticnerfherder.tumblr.com/) :)


	2. 19 Years Later

“Was there anything else, General?” Hux crosses his legs, leaning back into the chair as he waits for a response.

“No.” Leia smiles. “You’ve taken care of everything splendidly, Senator.”

He meets her gaze, the corners of his mouth rising slightly at the praise.

Leia Organa has barely changed in all the years Hux has known her. Her hair may be greyer, but it still remains in its usual, pulled-back, no-nonsense style. Today it just so happens to be in the same braided crown as the day Hux first met her. Though she traded her senate robes for the more utilitarian Resistance garb, Hux thinks she looks as regal as ever, even sitting at her desk surrounded by datapads and intelligence reports.

“I trust you’ll watch later today, then? The HoloNet News broadcast?”

“Of course I will. I have a few… meetings but I’ll make sure to watch it.” Leia glances at her office door with an eyebrow raised before looking back at Hux to continue. “Nice touch getting Varish on board. I almost wish I had suggested that myself.”

“She was really the only option. Having such a well-known and long-serving senator such as herself publicly endorsing me from the start is a great show of strength.”

Leia’s gaze flickers with fondness briefly. “You had a late start in politics, Hux, but you play it almost as well as I did.” She smirks. “Almost.”

Hux _does_ smile this time. He learned a long time ago that when the general starts using his name instead of his title, the professional meeting is over and the personal one has begun.

“Well, I learned from the best.”

“That you did. But…you haven’t been to the base as often lately. I haven’t seen you in weeks,” Leia chides.

“I do apologise,” he starts, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, of all people. I’ve been playing this game since long before you were born. I know how these things work. To be seen or associated with me and my ‘gang’ is bad political capital, I know.”

Hux frowns. “You are still idolised by many in the Senate, General.”

Leia laughs, a short chuckle. “Yet I am still seen as a pariah by all the others. No matter.” She shrugs, as if the scandal was a lifetime ago, not merely a few years. “They see me as crazy, but I don’t care.”

He smiles. Leia is truly a force of nature, and not one to be contended with.

“How are things progressing here? Is the base running smoothly?”

“The base is fine. Getting a little crowded, but that will be fixed…soon.”

He nods, wanting to press on the cryptic ‘soon’ but instead moving the conversation along, onto more important issues: “And the latest word on the First Order?”

“The First Order have been suspiciously silent these past few months,” Leia sighs, poking at one of the datapads on her desk. “They haven’t claimed new territory, and they are still sticking to fringe planets that are not members of the Senate—”

“Which means we won’t be mobilising the Republic’s fleet anytime soon,” Hux finishes for her.

She nods. “Correct. Though as I said, lately they’ve been quite inactive. My sources are starting to grow restless.” She picks up the same datapad and gives it a shake. “Just before you came in, I read a report about three moons in the Outer Rim ‘going missing.’ I don’t know if I should be concerned or call in my spy to send him for a med eval.” She sighs again, throwing the datapad on her desk.

“They’ll show themselves,” Hux says, his voice more determined than he feels. “That was their directive. They will appear on the scene with a bang, and the New Republic will realise they should have listened to you all those years ago.”

“Well, let’s hope the First Order doesn’t cause too much of a commotion when they _do_ decide to make a comeback.” Leia sighs once more, rubbing her temple with two fingers for a moment. She casts another quick glance at the door to her office. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you again into quitting government service and joining the Resistance? I know how boring the Senate can get. And it would be nice to have you on my team again, Hux.”

“Ah.” Hux smiles. “You’re wrong, General. I never left your team.”

Leia laughs. “While that may be true, next you’re going to tell me how important your work in the Senate is. And yes, after the elections it _will_ be especially important. So you’re right.” She raises an eyebrow, looking Hux up and down. “Besides, you’ve gotten used to wearing all these fineries. You would hate our uniforms.”

Hux chuckles, smoothing out an imagined crease in the front of his tunic. He never developed too much of a taste for the ridiculously luxurious robes worn for Senate proceedings and events. But he _is_ the Senator of Arkanis after all, and he has a reputation to uphold; his predecessor was famous for her extravagant dresses, which were not quite on the level of Naboo finery but still lavish and brightly hued. A stark contrast to the overcast drab grey of their homeworld. Hux himself prefers muted colours, dark greens and navy blues and deep reds. Black is reserved for official Senate days of mourning, or days he plans to cast a protest vote. White is reserved for special occasions.

Today is one such day. His bright white outfit very much stands out in the warehouse that has been converted into the Resistance’s base of operations. Hux dislikes wearing white, but it's a conscious and strategic decision for this important day in his career. The modest formal tunic is meant to make him seem humble, more innocent and trustworthy. The only luxury Hux wears today is a matching white cape, clipped onto his tunic by two simple copper bands.

“Well, I’m sure—”

The door to the office bursts open, effectively silencing Hux.

“I’m back!”

Hux barely suppresses a frustrated sigh. He knows that voice. He doesn’t bother turning around to greet the intruder.

Leia, however, stands, her arms opening and a wide smile stretching across her lips. “Ben!”

The wonder boy himself, Ben Organa, strolls confidently across Leia’s office, skirting around her desk to pull his mother into a bear hug. Though in his state, he hardly looks related to the general; his current look is modelled distinctly after his father’s smuggling days (and in fact Hux wouldn’t be surprised if it was lifted straight out of Han Solo’s wardrobe) with a dark jade shirt, black pants, dark hair half-up, and a nerf-leather utility belt complete with blaster on one hip. The only indication that the man is, in fact, a Jedi master is the lightsaber hilt strapped to the belt on the opposite side.

Hux takes a sudden great interest in his cuticles. Despite the fact that both men are, essentially, fighting on the same side and working for the same woman, both of them have been trying to one-up each other for as long as Hux can remember.

Yet keeping up this unspoken rivalry would be less frustrating if Ben Organa hadn’t grown up to be so attractive.

Cursing inwardly, Hux silences the thought and instead considers the menu for tonight’s reception. Esmelle has hopefully reconfirmed with the caterers by now. He will ask her as soon as he gets to his office.

“Ben,” Leia repeats when they break the hug, holding her son at arm’s length. “I thought I felt you nearby. I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.”

“You know Enyo likes to break her own record for flight times. She got us back here several hours earlier than expected.”

Leia tsks, stepping away from Ben and moving back to her chair. “Enyo should be more careful. But, you’re here now. I trust that means everything is in order?”

Ben turns then, suddenly, as if just noticing Hux in the room. Hux can practically _hear_ the smirk in Organa’s voice, and _feels_ Ben’s stare on him more than he sees it from the corner of his eye.

“Everything _is_ in order,” Ben says, mysteriously. “Good morning, Senator Hux. Fancy seeing you here.”

Hux looks up then, keeping his expression as polite as he possibly can around this man (and his aggravating, good-looking, smug face). “And to you, Master Organa. I was just catching up with the general, and discussing some future plans."

“Mm.” Ben nods and narrows his eyes at Hux for a brief second. “I saw Korr Sella outside. She still on your payroll?”

“Not for much longer.” The smile on Hux’s face is genuine this time. He’s proud of Korrie, who has become his most trusted advisor and aide. “Soon” —Hux turns to Leia, who has sat back down— “you’ll have two senators in your pocket. And the Senator of Hosnian Prime, being a Core World, will hold much more weight than merely Arkanis.”

“Ah, but if all goes according to plan, I won’t need any senators on my side, isn’t that right?” She winks at him.

Ben narrows his eyes once more, in annoyance at being kept out of the loop. “What?”

“Hux?” Leia prompts, offering him the chance to explain.

“Well, HoloNet News will have the story this evening. Or, you could always watch the Senate proceedings on H-PAN.”

Leia laughs. “You know nobody watches the public affairs network. They wait for the news cycle.”

“You are correct, as usual, General.” Hux stands then, smoothing out his cape behind him, and takes a step towards the door. “Unfortunately I must take my leave, seeing as the Senate will be in session fairly soon.”

She smiles, waving him out of the room. “Good luck this afternoon, and I hope our next meeting is sooner than this one was.”

Hux offers her a fake salute before making a quick exit, sparing the other Organa only the barest of nods in farewell. Making his way through the base, Hux mentally runs through a checklist of what he has to do once he reaches his office: brief Korrie and Esmelle, go over (for the sixth time) the final copy of Varish’s speech, make sure he has his own speech memorised (he does), reconfirm Esmelle has everything ready for the reception… He’s barely paying attention and it shows when he rounds a corner to enter the hangar bay, where Korrie waits in his speeder, because he quite literally collides with someone. He almost trips over his ridiculous cape. _Almost._

“Senator Hux! What a lovely surprise!”

Hux sighs. Of course this would happen. And he thought he would arrive at the Senate chambers _early._

“Hello, Dar. Long time no see.”

Dar beams at Hux, as if he has just made his day. “It is good to see you again, Senator!”

The padawan from Mon Cala, Hux recalls. And he should, since _he_ was the one who sent him on his merry way to Yavin 4. When Dar’s mother stumbled into Hux’s office four years ago, requesting help for her son who showed strong Force sensitivity, Hux was, at first, dumbfounded. Leia had left the Senate by then, and Luke Skywalker had not made a public appearance in years. Dar’s mother believed Hux her best bet for getting her son, who at that point did not even speak Basic, to the Jedi. It turns out she was right, because Hux reached out to Leia, who in turn contacted her son, who arrived alongside Enyo—and both of their padawan—to retrieve the young Mon Calamari. And now Dar stands before him, apparently as a part of this travelling circus of Jedi.

And, as if affirming to Hux that she is also on-planet, Hux spots Enyo’s VCX-100 light freighter in the hangar bay, just to Dar’s right.

“I see you’ve been doing well in your training,” Hux remarks politely, nodding at the beaded strand around Dar’s head, indicating his rank.

“Yes! It is going very well. Many thanks to you, Senator!”

Dar’s smile is so wide that Hux wonders if all Mon Calamari have mouths this big or if it is just Dar in particular. He’s never seen the senator of Mon Cala smiling, so Hux doesn’t have much else to base judgement on.

“Well…good job.” Hux frowns, slightly perturbed by Dar’s wide grin.

“I am doing very well, yes! Master Tanma says I will soon construct my _lightsarer._ ”

Hux tilts his head, unsure if he misheard. “What?”

“My _lightsarer!_ I will construct it soon.”

“Your… _lightsaber?”_ he asks, emphasising the ‘b.’

“Yes!” Dar nods eagerly. “My _lightsarer._ I already have the _kyrer_ crystal!”

Hux pauses a moment, unsure of what to say.

“If you’re confused” —a petite figure comes to his aid, appearing by his shoulder— “you’re not the only one. Dar has, for some reason, a weirdly developed vocal cord.”

Hux turns towards the voice and is not surprised at all to see this particular padawan. After all, her master is currently in Leia’s office.

Jaina has grown since he last saw her, but at her age —sixteen, he estimates— that seems about right. Her copper skin is sharply contrasted against light grey eyes, while her sleek black hair is cut jaw-length and shaved above her ear on one side. Underneath the shaved portion, her padawan braid falls past her shoulder with a worn strip of pink leather woven into it. The leather is presumably from the same nerf-hide as the matching belt that rests on her hips —where a lightsaber is not-so-subtly clipped— over her loose black pants and sleeveless grey tunic.

“Good morning, Senator,” she says, smirking. “Long time no see. Anyway, as I was saying, Dar’s vocal cords, for whatever reason, make him unable to pronounce the ‘b’ sound.” She turns to her fellow padawan, her head quirked to one side. “I haven’t figured out why, yet, since Dar here is the only Mon Calamari I’ve met that has this problem.”

“Jaina is correct!” Dar exclaims, eager and seemingly not at all put off. “I cannot pronounce the ‘r’ sound. Sometimes it confuses people when I speak Rasic to them, rut they usually get it in the end.”

“Fascinating,” Jaina deadpans. “Isn’t it?”

They’re interrupted by a figure descending the ramp of the freighter beside them. “Dar,” she calls. “Leave the senator alone. I’m sure he has _much_ more important things to deal with.”

Hux doesn’t miss the sarcasm in her tone, nor does he miss the scowl on her lips when he looks over at her. Tanma Bal, having come down from the ramp, stands with her hands threateningly on her hips. The position of her hands purposefully open her loose robes to reveal the indigo-hilted twin lightsabers on her belt. The zabrak’s purple facial tattoos have not changed but the horns atop her head seem sharper, if that’s even possible; Hux rationalises that it must be the harsh backlight of the cargo bay behind her.

Tanma has had a vendetta against him ever since Hux voted against proposed trade regulation changes allowing Iridonia, her home planet, to receive more subsidies from the Senate. The fact the regulations did not pass isn’t _really_ his fault —not when the bill was shot down eighty to twenty— but Tanma isn’t the first person in the galaxy to dislike a politician, either.

“Yes, Master!” Dar jumps at the sound of Tanma’s voice. “It was lovely to see you again, Senator!” He scurries back to the ship, retreating up the ramp with his master.

“You’re right, she doesn’t like you that much,” Jaina sniffs.

Hux sighs. “Isn’t there something else you padawan have to do? Why not bother your brother instead, or better yet, your own master?”

“Aw, I’m hurt.” Jaina scowls though her tone is light.

Hux starts walking again, hurried steps in the direction of his speeder. “I am actually going to be late, so I’m leaving now.” He sighs when he realises Jaina is following, matching his pace. “Where is your brother, anyway?”

“By your speeder,” Jaina says nonchalantly. “He’s flirting with Korr Sella again.”

“He…he does realise that Korrie is seven years older than him, does he not?”

Jaina laughs, loud and bright, slapping Hux’s shoulder lightly. “Age is but a number, Senator. _Especially_ to Jacen. Don’t worry, I’ll drag him away so you can be on time. I’m sure you have some riveting trade negotiations to discuss today.”

“Something like that,” Hux dismisses.

The other padawan _is_ indeed by his speeder, leaning against the passenger side door and talking to a very uninterested looking Korr Sella. Jaina’s twin is talking animatedly at Korrie, complete with gesturing hands, but she simply nods every now and then while reading something on her datapad.

“Korrie,” Hux calls to her.

She snaps her head up, a look of relief in her eyes. “Ready to go, Senator?”

“Yes, and we’ll have to hurry up. I’m afraid we might be running late.”

Korrie nods, starting the speeder and reaching over the passenger seat to open the door for Hux.

“Senator!” Jacen jumps up, a flustered look on his face. “I was just telling Korr about our latest adventure!”

“Yes,” Hux sniffs, walking around the teenager and gathering his cape to climb into the speeder. “I’m sure it was riveting.”

Korrie stifles a chuckle with a cough.

Hux awkwardly sits, trying his best not to wrinkle his senatorial robes, and glances at the two young padawan.

Jacen could almost be a carbon copy of his sister with their matching grey eyes, warm skin tone, and similar builds. Even their clothes are similar, Jacen in matching loose black pants and a faded grey-yellow tunic (though his has sleeves, unlike his sister’s). The only real difference between the twins is their hair; despite it being the same jet black, Jaina’s hair is straight and Jacen’s head is crowned by unruly curls, which he keeps short (with the exception of his ratty braid).

“Nice to see you both.” Hux nods at them as he shuts the speeder’s door. “Jacen, give my regards to Master Enyo.”

“Yes, Senator!” Jacen waves, an awkward and timid smile on his lips.

Jaina just smirks. “See you soon.”

Hux ignores the impulse to roll his eyes, instead signalling Korrie to drive.

“How was the meeting with the general?” she asks as she maneuvers them out of the warehouse and back towards the city. She will have to take the long way around, possibly pass by Hux’s apartment, so that they cannot be tracked back to the Resistance base.

“Good,” Hux says, fixing the copper clip of his cape. It came askew while he was climbing into the speeder. “You should join us next time, Korrie. If you’re going to be a senator, anything said between Leia and I can be said in front of you.”

She smiles. “Well, I haven’t won yet. I’m still working on _your_ campaign before I quit your office to run mine. One campaign at a time, shall we?”

* * *

Hux arrives at his pod exactly five minutes before the session is to begin.

The Senate chambers are buzzing with chatter, most senators going over today’s schedule with their aides or, if they’re scheduled to speak, running over their speeches once more.

“You’re cutting it awfully close this time, Senator,” Esmelle scolds, not looking up from her datapad as Hux and Korrie enter the pod. Today, the togruta wears a plain silk sea-green jumpsuit that matches the shade of her head-tails suspiciously well.

“Yes, well, that _is_ why I comm’ed ahead to tell you to meet us here instead of the office.” He holds out his hand for the datapad, which she places in it. “And traffic was particularly bad today.”

“I hope you were driving, Korrie?” Esmelle teases.

“Of course." Korrie shrugs, settling into her chair on Hux’s right. “I don’t have a death wish. I never let him drive if I’m in the speeder.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Hux interjects, only half-listening to his aides, as he peruses his speech on the datapad once more and takes the central seat of the pod. “And my driving is not that bad. I flew a spaceship on my own at age fourteen and look, I’m still alive.”

“Ships are different from speeders, Senator,” Esmelle chuckles. “They have a navicomputer and an _autopilot_ function.”

Korrie giggles behind her hand.

“Laugh it up, then,” Hux sighs, handing Esmelle the datapad back. “Did you reconfirm the menu for tonight? Is everything ready?”

Esmelle smiles innocently, as if she hadn’t just been making fun of his piloting skills a moment ago. “Of course. You know everything is _always_ ready early if trusted to me.”

“I know that, and it’s why I keep you around, Esmelle. My office could never function without either of you.” His tone is light, but he means his words. Very much.

She clicks her tongue at him as she sits down in the last chair. “Remember that the next time I ask you for a raise.”

He’s about to respond when the Senate’s Speaker brings them to order, and the session begins.

This session is nothing out of the ordinary: the schedule for the day is read out, the talks begin. Today’s session centers around taxes, seeing as collection time is imminent. The usual argument kicks up between the representatives of some Core, Inner, and Mid Rim worlds: how much to pay, who should pay more and why. It’s an argument Hux hears at least twice a year, and has heard during not only his time as senator but also earlier, when he was on Leia’s staff. As a senator of an Outer Rim planet he remains quiet, unwilling to drag Arkanis into this re-negotiation of taxes. Hux managed to bring them down to an all-time low during his third year in office and he has no intention of reopening the tax debate just to increase them.

Hux watches the proceedings from his pod, gesturing at Esmelle now and then to take notes on various discussions and new regulations being put into place. Korrie, on the other hand, studies the senators themselves: their opinions, their demeanor, their reactions. It will be useful for both Hux’s campaign, and hers later on, to know which senators they can look to for support: who will agree with them, and whom they should avoid.

The game of politics is not an easy one.

As the session drags on, Hux finds himself increasingly having to rub his palms along his thighs to try and wipe off some of the sweat collecting on them. During the brief recess for lunch, Esmelle even offers him a silk handkerchief (also sea-green to match her head-tails) to keep in his palms, and Hux can’t bring himself to eat. He ends up staying in the pod, alone while Korrie and Esmelle take their break, reviewing his speech again.

When the senate reconvenes, Varish Vicly is given the floor.

Hux holds his breath as he watches her pod projected onto the holoscreens along the ceiling.

“Senators!” her voice echoes around the chamber. “I graciously thank you for giving me the opportunity to address you today. I would like to take the time to discuss one of our own, our young Senator Armitage Hux.” She pauses briefly, letting the words sink in. “We all know of him very well. The so-called ‘silver-tongued, literally hot-headed’ Senator from Arkanis.”

A few of the senators laugh, and Hux feigns an abashed smile. He hates that description of himself, but the journalist who coined it, Anders Cuup, is extremely popular and his phrase caught on fast. It’s meant to compliment Hux, since he _is_ very good at public speaking and red hair is not very common off Arkanis, but he never enjoyed it; he grits his teeth whenever he hears it, and he only allows the phrase to continue circulating because it makes him more personable.

Varish continues her speech: “But few of us know the senator personally. I do, and I have had the pleasure of knowing Senator Hux for many years. Senator Hux grew up in a new galaxy, one we carved for ourselves, one we have worked hard to build and shape. The senator has seen, firsthand, the good we have done as the New Republic. Having lost his parents during the waning years of the war, he grew up with only aid provided by our government to help him.”

Hux clenches his jaw. He is fully aware of the HNN cameras trained on him, and if he’s to maintain the cover story Leia crafted for his upbringing years ago, he cannot show any doubt in it.

“But even as a child, Senator Hux knew his place was with us here, in the Senate chambers, running the galaxy and making it a better place. And once he was old enough, he did just that: he left his homeworld to bring him closer to his dream. As fortune would have it our colleague Leia Organa”—a few in the senate boo at the mention of Leia’s name while some cheer—“took Senator Hux under her wing, teaching him the ways of our government. Senator Hux has since grown into the man we know today, who has served as senator for almost seven years now. And he has done an admirable job. Thank you, Senator Hux, for your utter commitment to our government, and for peace in the galaxy.”

Varish gestures at him with her golden-fur arms and what Hux now knows is a Loneran equivalent of a smile. He stands in his own pod, a reserved smile on his lips, and waves back at her as the Senate applauds.

She waits a few minutes before she continues. “As we all know, Chancellor Severi’s term is coming to an end. Chancellor Severi has served four years in addition to their prior nine years as a senator, and we have seen much progress during their incumbency. They surprised us by announcing their retirement from public service instead of running for re-election. So, while I congratulate Chancellor Severi on an excellent career and a well-deserved retirement, the question of who shall replace them comes to mind. The answer, in my opinion, is immediately apparent. Senator Hux is exactly the type of leader our galaxy needs: intelligent, pragmatic, and still young, unlike many of us here.” This gets a few laughs. “I therefore nominate Senator Hux as candidate for chancellor!”

Applause resounds around the Senate chambers once more, this time accompanied by a few cheers, and again Hux stands. He told a handful of trusted senators of this plan, but he knows they will have persuaded a few of their own allies to support his candidacy, hence the enthusiastic response to Varish’s speech. Even Korrie behind him lets out a whoop of her own. But he has no time to tell her off for impropriety, not when his microphone is rising and it’s time for his own responding speech.

“Thank you,” he says, the sound of his voice signaling the noise to die down. “Thank you. Thank you, Senator Vicly, for your kind words. And thank you, Chancellor Severi, for your service to our galaxy. We are a better Senate for having worked under your leadership. Senator Vicly is correct in saying that we were all at a loss when you announced your retirement.”

That’s not strictly true. Hux was actually rather pleased; Severi’s retirement meant what was originally an idea that first planted itself in Hux’s head years ago could come to fruition earlier than he hoped. Not that Hux had anything against the old senator. It was more a difference of opinion; where Severi supported the demilitarisation initiatives put forth by Mon Mothma, Hux did not. It meant the New Republic never took action, especially against the First Order.

“It is with humble appreciation that I accept the nomination. I will gladly run for Chancellor of the New Republic, and, if you’ll have me, will lead our government with pride.” Hux pauses. More clapping echoes around the chambers. “Seven months from today marks three decades since the galaxy threw off its shackles and said ‘no more’ to a mad tyrant. Three decades since we took back our freedom. To commemorate this anniversary, our capital will be returning to Chandrila, the birthplace of the New Republic, for the first time in eleven years. Since its birth, the New Republic has heralded an era of harmony across the galaxy. But there is still work to be done.”

If he could, now would be the time to rally the Senate against the First Order. Hux holds his tongue for a beat, mentally reminding himself to stick to his speech. He needs the votes, and bringing up what the Senate dismisses as ‘pirates’ or a ‘fringe-group junta’ would certainly lose them.

“Unrest still prevails in the Outer Rim, and pirates still reside at the top of the hierarchy in Wild Space. Countless systems have yet to be represented here, in these very chambers, and some planets are still recovering from years of oppression. Yes, my friends, there is still work to be done in the galaxy, but I am optimistic. I have faith in our government. But I am only one man; I need your help. Because together, we can achieve great things.” He pauses again, this time for some polite applause. “With your help, I will be the first chancellor from the Outer Rim and who is, as Senator Vicly so eloquently put it, a part of the new generation of senators. And as chancellor, I will ensure that together, we continue the work started so many years ago by the late honourable Mon Mothma. I guarantee that together, we will continue championing peace across the galaxy. We will continue paving the way to a golden age for us, our future, and that of our children. Thank you.”

The senate erupts in claps and cheers. Hux breathes a sigh of relief, smiling politely and waving for the HNN cameras that suddenly feel too in his face. The speech itself is standard election fodder—fancy words and promises to sway votes—but this is Hux’s specialty, what he is known for. Esmelle once told him he could discuss taxes on bantha meat and still receive a standing ovation. Right now, however, the energy of the Senate feels more enthusiastic, more supportive, and Hux _knows_ today is a success.

“Well done, Senator,” Esmelle whispers behind him.

“Esmelle,” Korrie says, “I think we are working for the next chancellor.”

“This is only the first step,” Hux mutters, just loud enough for them to hear and moving his lips as little as possible. “We still need the votes.”

Esmelle pats the back of his shoulder blades covertly. “We have time. We’ll get them.”

“And based on this reaction, it will be easier than we thought.”

“Time can fly by in an instant,” Hux warns. He knows more than most how time can distort itself however it wishes.

The election is in two months.

There is much to prepare.

* * *

The moment the Senate’s attention drifts away from him, after his nomination was officially acknowledged by Chancellor Severi, Hux’s appetite returns. Back in his office suites, as soon as the caterers have finished setting up in the foyer, Hux attacks the elegantly laid out finger food and attempts to stuff his face as delicately as possible, taking great care to not drop anything on his white tunic. He normally eats before his guests—senators, constituents, press—arrive, and today he feels particularly ravenous after missing both breakfast and lunch in anticipation of his meeting with Leia and then his speech.

There is no shortage of food, either; Esmelle always orders extra when they host these events, so that they don’t run out of things to offer guests. If there are leftovers, which there always are, she takes them to the Citizens Assistance Office near her apartment to give to any unemployed or homeless citizens looking for a meal.

“Mistress Esmelle ordered extra meiloorun especially for you, sir.” Hux starts as K-8TE, Esmelle’s protocol droid, appears at his elbow. Although the droid technically belongs to Esmelle while she is on his staff, the droid works for him too. “Please,” the copper-plated droid says as it piles some more of the pre-sliced fruit onto his plate, “do have more, Master Hux.”

“You’ll embarrass the senator, Kaitee,” Esmelle chuckles. She shoos the droid away on the pretense of organising some chairs along the walls. “But Kaitee is right, I know meiloorun is your favourite. You should eat more, _and_ take the leftovers of it home. I know you will increasingly forget to eat in the next few weeks.”

“Thank you,” Hux says around a mouthful. Hux may be excellent at his job, but not so much at taking care of himself. He’s a little embarrassed at how much he relies on his aides for this. But at the moment, all he can think about is putting something in his stomach before it starts to make embarrassing hungry noises during the reception.

Korrie enters the foyer, frowning at a datapad in her hands. “Some journalists are already requesting entry. They all want exclusive interviews.”

“They’re an hour early,” Kaitee says, affronted, as if arriving too early is some kind of insult. Hux supposes it _is,_ technically, since it’s a protocol breach that K-8TE is programmed against.

“Who’s here?” he asks.

“The usual. HoloNet News, Hosnian Times, New Republic Post, a few more smaller news agencies. About seven journalists in total.”

He hums in contemplation. “We should let them in. They can pick at the food for a few minutes while I take a short break, then I’ll talk to all of them together.”

“Why?” Korrie asks.

“If they all have the same interview, none of them will have their so-called ‘scoop.’”

“And they’ll all be racing back to their offices to be the first one to publish,” she continues for him, nodding. “Which means they won’t be spending too much time here.”

“Precisely,” Hux says, smiling. “I’ll be in my office.”

He turns then, leaving his staff in the grand foyer.

The office suites assigned to the senatorial team of Arkanis are much too big for just them. They were supposed to share the offices with a planet from a neighbouring system but Tatooine, however, never officially joined the Republic; the negotiations happened, and failed, several times. It is of little consequence to Hux, seeing as the desolate Tatooine doesn’t really have much to offer the New Republic. Instead, every time the Senate shifts to a new world, Arkanis gets an office suite twice the size it is supposed to.

His office itself varies from planet to planet. The Hosnian Prime offices have always been the most luxurious, seeing as his whole apartment could fit into his private office alone. The entire outer wall is lined with transparisteel, a glittering view of Republic City stretched out below it, and there are plush couches to entertain visitors on one side of the room. Hux heads now to the opposite side, where his expansive desk and main console await.

By the time Esmelle comes to fetch him after his self-allotted break time, he’s cleaned the fruit off his plate and typed out a message of thanks to Varish for her time today. Admittedly it’s a useless note, since she will probably make a brief appearance at the reception, but he sends it anyway. Hux makes his way back to the foyer and greets the journalists. He answers their questions until the first few senators start arriving, after which he plays host: greeting some guests at the door, flitting between others in brief conversation, thanking the appropriate parties for their support, making a joke here or there. The social schmoozing is his least favourite part of public service, but the system the New Republic has in place relies on it.

So Hux does what he must and plays the part.

He’s deep in conversation with the Bothan senator, Kaitee making rapid translations from Basic to Bothese and back, when he notices an unwanted guest out of the corner of his eye. Hux glances in his direction to make sure he has seen correctly, before quickly looking back at the other senator and pointedly _not_ looking at the Jedi in the room.

_What the_ kriff _is Ben Organa doing here?_

“The Senator of Bothawui would like to offer her support once more,” Kaitee says. “And apologises that she must take her leave.”

“Not at all, Senator.” Hux smiles at the Bothan. “Thank you for coming. And thank you for the support.”

Kaitee translates for the other senator, after which she makes a gesture which Hux knows to be a standard greeting on Bothawui. He returns it, and then he’s alone with K-8TE.

“Senator Hux.”

Hux closes his eyes, exhaling in frustration, his smile disintegrating immediately.

“Master Organa,” he greets as he turns to face the Jedi. “I don’t recall inviting you tonight.”

Kaitee is scandalised by his manners. “Master Hux! How rude!”

“It’s alright, droid,” Ben says, smirking. “He is correct. And we go way back; we’re well past manners.”

“Kaitee, I can take it from here,” says Hux. “Go see if Esmelle requires your assistance.”

“Yes, sir,” the droid says with what sounds like reluctance. It shuffles off into the crowd, looking for its real boss.

“Can I help you?” Hux asks Ben, not doing anything to hide the sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“That’s not what you want to say.”

Hux grits his teeth. “Fine. What are you _doing_ in my offices? You shouldn’t be here.”

Organa tilts his head at Hux. “And why is that?”

“Kriff,” Hux sighs, rubbing his temple. “Do I have to spell it out? I’m already constantly questioned for my connection to your mother. If you are spotted here, let alone spotted _conversing_ with me, it will put me in even _more_ hot water. Which I do _not_ need right now.”

“Right. Because you’re running for chancellor.”

“Precisely.”

Organa narrows his eyes, lips pursed smugly. “And that’s your grand plan, is it? What Leia mentioned this morning? Your grand plan to support the Resistance?” He lowers his voice. “Or is it just to lift yourself up?”

Hux bristles. “Now is not the time for this conversation. In fact, _never_ is the proper time. This is my _office,_ for pfassk’s sake, Organa.”

“What’s the matter, Senator?” Ben tilts his head. “Worried someone will overhear us? Don’t worry. I’ve got that covered. Nobody is paying attention.” He gestures above Hux’s shoulder with his chin. “Look. See for yourself.”

Cautiously glancing around them, Ben is, indeed, correct; no one is looking at them, no one seems to notice them at all. Only one pair of eyes is trained on them, Hux notices, and they belong to a familiar twi’lek: Master Enyo.

Though she is a full six years Organa’s senior, as far as Hux knows Enyo started her training at the same time Ben did, making them both equally ‘ranked’ (or however the Jedi choose to call it). Both masters of the New Jedi Order. Rumour has it that Master Skywalker found her by chance on Ryloth, after her mother, a hero in the early days of the Alliance, hid her with relatives to keep her away from the Rebellion.

Turning his attention away from Enyo, Hux looks back at Ben. “What have you done to my guests?”

“Nothing at all,” Ben retorts, far too innocently. Hux fixes him with a look, at which he shrugs. “A simple trick, really. Bending the Force around us in a way that makes no one pay us any attention. They know we’re here, but they can’t quite focus on either of us. I could strip naked and no one would bat an eye.”

Hux wills away the flush threatening to creep up his cheeks at the thought and instead nods in Enyo’s direction. “But it doesn’t work on other Jedi, I assume? Since Master Enyo has her eye on us. Ah, look, here she is now.”

Enyo seems to float across the floor as she approaches, her steps light and a stern expression on her face. “Good evening, Senator Hux,” Enyo greets once close enough. “Quite the party you’re having.”

Hux returns her nod. “Not quite. Hosnian Prime parties involve much more liquor and fineries.”

She raises an eyebrow, looking over his and then her own outfit. “I _did_ dress up just for the occasion, Senator.”

It does seem that way. The robes both she and Ben wear are far more formal than anything he’s seen them in before. Enyo is dressed in soft brown leggings with a lilac, high-collared tunic, the sleeves fanning out into a cloak that cascades downwards behind her, and it is cinched at the waist with a thick belt. Ben, in stark contrast, wears blacks and greys, his leggings covered by an inner robe that grazes past his knees, with a shorter, simple tunic wrapped over both. The only colour in his outfit is the deep purple lining of his outer jacket, visible at the edges of the garment. Though neither of their lightsabers are anywhere to be found, Hux has no doubt they’re hidden somewhere within the various folds of their robes and easily accessible.

“And might I ask,” he says, directing this at Enyo rather than Ben, “why exactly you _did_ show up for this particular occasion? At my office?”

“About that,” Organa starts, his eyes drifting for a second towards the hallway.

Hux follows his gaze, and before Ben can continue Hux brushes past him, making a beeline for his office. He berates himself internally for not having realised sooner; in Hux’s experience, a padawan is never too far away from their master. And if Enyo and Ben’s presence in his foyer says anything…

The assumption turns out to be correct. When he enters his office, he spots three padawan huddling behind his desk: Jaina is seated, working frantically at his console, while Dar leans over her shoulder, watching what she’s doing, and Jacen perches on the edge of the desk, one of Hux’s paperweights hovering over his palm. Jaina is in the middle of explaining something to Dar and is cut off when Dar notices Hux entering the room.

“Senator Hux! Nice to see you again!”

Hux purses his lips. Instead of responding, he whirls around to Organa and Enyo, who have entered the room behind him.

“I’m assuming this has to do with why you are here, too? What is the meaning of this?”

“If you’d just listened,” Ben bites out, a little annoyance in his tone. “We _are_ here for a reason. We don’t make a habit of crashing random receptions.”

“I’m just here for the free food,” Tanma remarks from the other side of the room.

Hux turns to see her lounging across a sofa. She is gesturing to a large plate of food resting on the transparisteel table next to her; Tanma’s robe is discarded, folded up as a pillow for her neck, revealing that her purple tattoos extend far past her neckline (though some of the designs on her torso are hidden under the brown bandeau she wears). A mini bantha-steak skewer floats up from the plate into her waiting hand.

“There,” Jaina interrupts before Hux can respond. “All done.”

“All done with what exactly?” Hux eyes her suspiciously.

She whistles. “Explanation is not my job here. I’m just the slicer.”

“You _what?”_

“Senator Hux.” Ben strategically places himself in front of Hux’s line of sight. “As I was saying, we are here for a reason.”

“Did your padawan just _slice_ something into or out of my console?”

“Into, if you were wondering!” Jaina pipes up again. Her brother smacks her on her bicep and she refrains from saying anything else.

Ben clears his throat. “Yes, Jaina did. She sliced a specially-encrypted communications app, frequencies pre-programmed, so that you’ll be able to stay in contact with the general.”

Hux narrows his eyes at the Jedi master. “I already have an encrypted channel with General Organa, why would I need another one?”

“Because...” Ben rears himself up to his full height, smug smile back on his lips. “The channel you currently have won’t reach her on the new base.”

“The _new base?”_

“What Master Ben here is stalling on telling you is that we’re here on the general’s orders,” Enyo interrupts, settled into an armchair beside Tanma. “The Resistance has found a new base off-planet. Somewhere more secure than the outskirts of Republic City. The move is effective immediately, and General Organa did not want to be out of contact with her favourite senator.”

Hux frowns. “And she couldn’t tell me that this morning?”

Ben moves to stand by Jaina behind Hux’s desk, making Jacen and Dar retreat to the couches. “It wasn’t finalised this morning. We brought the final reports that made the decision when we arrived today.”

“Yet I still have to deal with six Jedi in my office instead of a private message from General Organa because…?”

Ben scowls. “She insisted. She didn’t want to send you the news, along with the coordinates and new messaging frequency, over the old program. She said this is a time of high-scrutiny for you, because of the campaign. So she sent us instead.”

Hux sniffs. “And _that_ was more inconspicuous? I could have easily sliced it into the console myself.”

Jaina shrugs. “No. It had to be me. I programmed the app myself, and only I know how to install it. You’re the last console in a long list I’ve had to slice today.” She tilts her head. “I do have to say, though, I’m almost disappointed in you, Senator. I dug around a bit. No holonet history, no secret love affairs for me to dig up. Either you know how to cover your tracks or you really are incredibly boring. I’m leaning towards the latter.”

There’s a snort in the corner of the room; Hux is certain it’s Tanma.

Jaina holds her palm out towards her master, which Ben slaps in an encouraging gesture.

“Well, if that’s all,” Hux sighs exasperatedly, adjusting his cufflinks. He fluffs his stupid cape out behind him and starts towards the door. “I have a reception to get back to, if you don’t mind. Seeing as you all didn’t need my invitation to make yourself comfortable here, I suppose you can all see yourselves out.”

And with that, he leaves the six Jedi in his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: N/A (but there's a lot of politics/discussions about taxes...)
> 
> thank you for the kudos/comments!!! and special thank you to the incredible [Gefionne](http://gefionne.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing! 
> 
> this chapter introduces a lot of the OCs! Jaina and Jacen are, of course, named after the Solo twins from the EU/Legends canon. there is also now a [moodboard](http://bioticnerfherder.tumblr.com/post/161706139981) for B&H on my tumblr!


	3. Chapter 3

Hosnian Prime is beautiful by day, but it is absolutely stunning at dusk.

Republic City stretches between the sea and the mountains, and the city itself is so vast one can only make out either environment from the three hundredth floor or higher. The buildings here are not as tall as on Coruscant; people actually walk on the ground to get from place to place, vehicles are restricted to low orbits, and vibrant parks (with real flora) are commonplace. The system’s star rises above the water, sets behind the mountains, and is easily viewed from Hux’s apartment on the four hundredth floor.

If he had to name it, Hux would probably say his favourite view in the galaxy is from right here on this balcony, where he watches the sky above the mountains fade from blue to grey to almost black.

Hux stands in his usual position at this hour: precariously perched on the thick railing of his balcony. The railing is more of a support—thick durasteel meant to help stabilise the tall building—while the balcony itself is shielded from wind by the floor above it and the apartments on either side. The combination of these elements makes it easy enough to stand securely upon the railing without the risk of falling. From here, Hux can see the grey mountains and some of the various parks around the city; the green plants and other colourful flora are a stark contrast to the rest of the artificial lights and structures surrounding them. Traffic is barely a faint buzz below him, the only sounds up here a soft breeze and the hum of neighbours getting ready for bed in their own apartments.

The apartment itself is tiny—a living room with a kitchenette, a small bedroom, and refresher—but it fits his price range and his only two requirements: a high floor and a mountain-facing view. He doesn’t need too much space anyway, since he spends most of his time at the office. The main reason he chose the apartment was for this balcony, so he could stand here and enjoy the view to relax whenever he _is_ at his apartment – his home.

Legally, Hux keeps a permanent address at a studio in Scaparus Port back on Arkanis, in order to maintain his eligibility for office there. But Arkanis isn’t home. Home _used_ to be the _Eclipse,_ in another lifetime. Since then, he’s lived on so many planets—Chandrila, Ord Mantell, Ryloth, Devaron, Iridonia, and more—with each rotation of the Senate. Hosnian Prime is the only such planet he’s ever come close to calling home, and mainly because he’s been lucky enough to rent out the same apartment every time he moves back.

Taking one last deep breath of cool air, Hux carefully hops down from the balcony railing and retreats inside.

This year marks Hosnian Prime’s third time hosting the Senate, the previous being the year of Leia’s scandal. There are whispers floating about of making it the permanent capital since the Senate has voted to return here so often, but with Mon Mothma’s passing still fresh in the hearts of so many, no senator wants to be the one to disregard part of her legacy by suggesting it. Hux will not bring it up himself, even as chancellor, but he’s not opposed to the notion of this planet becoming his permanent home.

Moving to his bedroom, Hux goes about his nightly routine. He strips off his formalwear, placing it carefully in a basket to hand over to the building’s laundry droid when it passes by tomorrow, and dresses in soft pants before going to wash up in the bathroom. Usually he will get some reading done and watch HNN in bed before sleeping, but he knows exactly what he’ll see if he turns it on: his own face during a replay of his speech and other highlights from today’s Senate session. Besides, he has a long day tomorrow, starting with a press conference in the early morning, another Senate session, meetings, and finally a reception hosted by Winter Celchu, Senator of the Alderaanian Sector.

He _does_ check his comm quickly, finding a message from Korrie.

“Senator,” Korrie says when he plays the recording. “Just received a request for an interview from Anders Cuup. He wants an exclusive one-on-one, and wants to schedule it within the week. My guess is, he wasn’t happy with whatever the HNN reporter brought to him today.”

“Or he wants another excuse to grill me on my personal life,” Hux grumbles to himself.

“I replied with a tentative ‘yes’ and a ‘please wait for confirmation.’ I’ll look at your schedule tonight and reconfirm with you tomorrow to find a time. _If_ you want to do the interview, that is. Which I think you do. Goodnight.”

Hux sighs, typing out a response instead of sending her a voice message: _You’re right. We’ll look at the schedule tomorrow._ He then settles into bed, sliding comfortably underneath his blanket to rest on his side, feet stretched out diagonally.

He thinks back on earlier. By the time he returned to his private office after the reception, the Jedi had cleared out, leaving no trace behind. Hux found himself wondering, for the briefest of moments, if he imagined the entire encounter; the new unlabelled app on his console, however, was evidence that it happened. Before leaving the office, he tinkered around with the software for a bit, trying to figure out what was so special about it, but ultimately he had to admit he was impressed with Jaina’s work.

It _was,_ however, careless for Ben Organa to shepherd his Jedi into Hux’s office this past evening, and for him and Enyo to parade around the reception itself. Hux’s connection to Leia already costs him, since there are many in the Senate who think he shouldn’t be where he is because of it. The scandal that revealed her parentage was during Hux’s first year as senator, and already his opponents believed he’d won his election through Leia’s support. So, when people started branding her a liar, anyone she supported was probably one, too. Hux maintained his position as senator by the skin of his teeth, and only by succeeding in getting Arkanis to host the Senate the next year, which gave him the boost in popularity he needed to secure his role.

But the consequences still remain: in almost every interview, Hux is asked about his time on Leia’s staff, if he knew about her true heritage, if he was paid to keep quiet, if he was shocked. Every time Hux endorses legislation at least one opponent will bring up his past with Leia on their holonet social accounts, as if that has anything at all to do with current Senate proceedings. It’s tedious work, which makes Hux all the more frustrated with Ben Organa for just showing up at his office in his full Jedi regalia, with padawan and other masters in tow. It was as if he was reminding the other senators that his connection to the Organa family runs deep.

That kind of behaviour was entirely inappropriate. Hux will have to have a word with Leia about her son, and—wait. Two grown men arguing with one of their _mothers_ as a medium? _That_ would also be inappropriate.

 _Ridiculous_ , Hux chides himself. He’s not sixteen anymore. He’s not having a petty argument with a twelve-year-old in Leia’s office on Chandrila.

If Leia’s stories are anything to go by, Ben’s social skills are more akin to his father’s—do first, think later—than his mother’s, but surely the man is smart enough to understand that he needs to work on his decorum. Hux would just send Ben a politely-worded message about it.

What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

“Relax your face, Senator. If I don’t put it on evenly you’ll have all these lines,” Korrie scolds as she dabs some more makeup on Hux’s nose.

Hux scowls at the sponge Korrie brings to his face, as if that would stop her from applying the makeup. He hates the foundation, the way the stuff cakes his face and makes his cheeks feel dry, but the HNN camera operators insist on him wearing some so that the special lights they’ve set up in his office won’t drain his colour on camera. Hux thinks it’s pointless; he knows he has a particularly pale complexion, and he doubts a little makeup will help him, but Korrie and Esmelle usually take the the HNN team’s side and have started keeping a bottle of his shade in the office.

“You know I hate this stuff, Korrie.” Despite himself, he stops his pouting when Korrie shoots him a look.

“It’s necessary. Besides, you don’t want _him_ to look better than you, do you?” She punctuates her words with a slight nod of her head in the direction of the HNN team.

Anders Cuup, the most popular journalist currently on HNN, sits in one of Hux’s chairs discussing something with his producer. The Keshian has a shock of white hair and smooth tan skin, and the only evidence that he’s not human are his large, wholly silver eyes, which are carefully lined in black. Hux doesn’t care much for him—or any journalists at all, to be honest—but he can’t deny the advantage this interview will give him right now.

Korrie brings Hux’s attention back to her: “Another thing. We need to reconfirm the gala next week. The reminder for the RSVP came in today.”

“Which one?”

She gestures at Kaitee, who stands beside her. “The Mothma Foundation is hosting their annual fundraising gala and would like to reconfirm your attendance, Master Hux.”

“Ah, kriff.” Hux sniffs. “Yes, I have to go to that one for sure. I can’t be running for chancellor without honouring our first one, can I?”

“Very correct, sir. I will go now to contact them while you sit for your interview.” K-8TE toddles off out of the office.

Korrie finishes sponging on Hux’s foundation. “All right, all done. I’ll just be in that corner watching the interview.”

Hux stands to make his way over to the HNN team. “Take notes.”

Korrie nods. “I will.”

Cuup gets up to greet him when he notices Hux walking over, a broad grin on his face. “Thank you again for having us, Senator.”

“Not a problem, Anders. I know you love your exclusive interviews.”

“Yes,” Cuup says, smiling. “Yes, I do. I know you’re quite busy, so shall we get started?” He gestures at a chair for Hux to sit, as if this isn’t Hux’s office or his own furniture.

“Of course. Thank you.”

The Keshian points at two different cameras. “Same drill as always, Senator. These are the cameras that will have you in their shot, if you feel inclined to look directly at them at any point. Otherwise just focus on me. We’re not live this time, so if you need a break at any point, let me know.”

Hux nods his acknowledgement. Cuup gestures at his producer, and the cameras whir to life.

“Good evening,” Cuup says to one of the cameras. “Tonight, I am joined by Senator Armitage Hux of Arkanis. Senator Hux, or as I like to call him, the ‘silver-tongued, literally hot-headed’ Senator from Arkanis, recently announced his intention to run for chancellor in the upcoming elections. I’m here tonight to get an exclusive take from the man himself. Senator,”—he turns to Hux—“thank you for joining us. I just wanted to take the opportunity to ask you a few questions about your campaign for chancellor. Which, by the way, congratulations, and I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you.” Hux plasters on a smile, hoping it looks genuine enough. “It’s always a pleasure to talk to you, Anders.”

Cuup chuckles. “Likewise, Senator. I’m always happy to have you on my show. I wanted to start off by discussing your intentions as potential future chancellor. What are your main concerns within the New Republic, or what would you want to focus on during your time in office?”

“I have three main priorities as chancellor.” Hux pauses to clear his throat. “The first, and this will not come as a surprise to anyone on Arkanis, is infrastructure. During my time as a senator I’ve worked many hours with our local government to improve our roads, our cities, and more. Arkanis suffered so much destruction in the final weeks of the siege, when the old Empire had refused to let up its claws on us, and rebuilding has always been slow. There are many planets just like mine that are still recovering, and countless others that have never been able to develop too far – some purposely held back. Infrastructure provides access to essentials, which is why I consider it one of my priorities.”

“Yes”—Cuup nods enthusiastically—“we did a recent report on the results of your five-year infrastructure plan on Arkanis. Absolutely brilliant results!”

“Thank you, Anders.”

“Mhmm, of course, you’re welcome. And what are your other priorities?”

“Well, Anders, simply put, my next priority is education.” Hux pauses for effect. “Last week Senator Vicly had some very kind words to say about me, but unfortunately she was wrong about one thing: I hadn’t always known I wanted to be in government.” Hux leans forward. “I’ll tell you a secret, Anders.”

Cuup plays into it, leaning forward as well. “Do tell,” he stage whispers.

“I originally wanted to be an engineer,” Hux says as he corrects his posture.

It’s one of the few true details about his history he can share openly: back at the Academy, whenever training was done for the day and he returned to his quarters, he studied the schematics of Star Destroyers, TIE fighters, space stations, and many other ships. Sometimes he even toyed with designing his own, playing around with the idea of becoming an engineer instead of a military leader. Brendol would never have let him, and Hux is fairly certain Rae would not have either, seeing as she wanted him to continue working on the stormtrooper program with his father.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well”—Hux stalls by shrugging, trying to pull his mind back into the present—“I had nothing, as a child on Arkanis. Most of all I didn’t have access to education. In my mind that was completely unfair, and silly young me decided he wanted to change that – thought I _could_ change that. Which is how I ended up stowing away on a transport to Chandrila and meeting with the first senator who would see me. I suppose I did manage to change my situation, just in a way I never thought possible. Leia Organa is the one who convinced me I’d make much more of a difference in public service. But this is beside the point. Education is another of my priorities, because _any_ child on _every_ planet should be able to chase their dreams.”

Cuup nods sombrely. “How very noble of you, Senator. I’m sure there are many who would agree with you. But, now, what is the third priority?”

Hux does his best not to frown; Cuup is certainly moving the interview along quickly. Hux was hoping they would dwell on his first two priorities longer, so that there was less of a focus on his third. He has to choose his words carefully here, because this is where his opponents can rip him apart.

“This one may be a little more tough to sell,” Hux starts. He takes a deep breath before continuing: “My third priority is security.”

“Security?” Cuup asks, eyebrows rising in surprise. “You mean, military?”

Hux shakes his head. “Not necessarily, Anders.” Yes, it’s exactly what he means, but he can’t phrase it that way in public. “Mon Mothma, may she rest in peace, had good reason to implement our demilitarisation policies. Our fleet is small, our troops few in number, to keep history from repeating itself. However, there are still regions of the galaxy that need to be secured.”

The Keshian tilts his head. “How so?”

“Many systems in the Outer Rim are still run by crime syndicates and gangs. Pirates from Wild Space are launching raids into New Republic-controlled areas. The slave trade, while outside of our member systems, has steadily increased in the outer fringes of the galaxy over the past twenty years.”

He knows the reason for the last point: in the early days, Brendol’s new stormtrooper program relied heavily on abductions, before the First Order had any colonies from which to take volunteers. But Hux can’t mention this on HNN.

Cuup interrupts him before he can continue. “But, as you said, most of these planets are not under New Republic jurisdiction. What right do we have launching any military action among them?”

“These planets and systems may not be a part of the New Republic, but don’t we want them to be? Isn’t our directive a unified galaxy? And doesn’t that mean every sentient world?” Hux raises an eyebrow. “Many of these planets have not joined us because, in the old days, they were afraid; afraid of retaliation. So, isn’t the best way to convince them to join the New Republic to offer security?”

“You raise a good point.” Cuup frowns in consideration. “But I’d still like to see you argue _that_ in the Senate.”

Hux smiles. This time, it’s genuine, because he means his next words. “You will. I fully intend to stand by everything I’ve said today.”

Cuup nods, allowing some silence to fill the room for a minute. They talk about more menial things then, a few minutes of the same questions Hux has been asked in almost every interview since becoming a senator. After a while, Cuup’s producer gestures something at him, to which Anders nods; he changes subject again.

“Now, we’re running out of time, but I just want to ask: what’s next for you, Senator?”

“Besides the campaign?” Hux chuckles. It sounds fake, even to his ears, and he’s worried he’s losing his touch.

“Yes and no,” Anders laughs right back, which relieves Hux. “Can we expect you out and about in the next few weeks? Any events or forums open to the public?”

Hux nods. “Yes, actually. But I’ll leave any and all announcements for my office’s press conference tomorrow.”

“And you’re returning to Arkanis soon, correct?”

“That’s correct. I’ll be away on Arkanis for a few days on my so-called homecoming tour. And hopefully my last trip home as a senator.”

“Oh?”

“I hope to be carrying the title of chancellor next time I return.”

“Yes,” Cuup giggles, “of course. Anyway, thank you for making the time to talk to me today, Senator. It’s always lovely to see you.”

“Likewise, Anders.” Hux smiles a little too stiffly.

The interview airs two cycles later, and Hux watches from his desk. It turns out better than he expected, but he still spends the rest of the evening jotting down strategies to combat the criticisms that are undoubtedly on their way; particularly on the first half of the interview. He’ll most definitely be grilled on his third priority during the next few Senate sessions.

His night improves immensely when the pocket-sized disk on his desk signals an incoming call.

“General,” he greets, when the holographic form of Leia materialises above the object.

“Hux,” she greets in return.

In the days since the Jedi’s invasion of his office, Hux managed to replicate Jaina’s app onto a special comm unit of his own design. He has yet to crack whatever decryption she used to hide the Resistance’s new base location, but he’s satisfied with his work. The replication means that Hux can keep the comm on his person at all times, so that he may contact the Resistance from anywhere.

“Just watched your interview with HNN’s Cuup. You did very well.”

Hux tries not to visibly preen at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“I think even Mon herself would reconsider her demilitarisation policy if she saw that interview.” The hologram smirks at him.

“Can you tell that to the Senate? I’ve been preparing potential rebuttals to opposition for hours.”

Leia laughs. “They don’t want to hear from me. But you did well, and I think it would be very hard to argue with the points you made.”

“I appreciate that, General”—Hux nods—“but there will be disapproval among the Senate nonetheless. Now, is there something I can do for you?”

“No.” Leia’s hologram shakes its head. “I just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done in the interview. We _did_ already speak a few cycles ago, after all.”

Hux hums. “Has anything changed since we last spoke?”

“There are a few problems, but nothing I can’t deal with, and nothing you should worry about. I need you to focus on your campaign. You’re headed in the right direction, if your interview was anything to go by. I just wanted you to know that, since you’re going to see hostility from some in the Senate.” She frowns. “Isn’t it ironic? They yell and denounce war and fighting so loudly, yet these days politicians fight the dirtiest battles of them all.”

“Not for long. I fear the day of the First Order’s return is a bit too close for comfort.”

Something flashes in Leia’s eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it appears. “We’ll see. This is one thing I certainly hope you’re wrong about.”

* * *

“Thank you so much for making the time to see me, Senator!”

The old woman stands delicately, smoothing her longs skirts out as she straightens. She looks back at Hux and beams brightly at him without even making an effort to move towards the door.

Hux’s cheeks are beginning to ache from all the forced smiles he’s maintained all afternoon.

While he usually enjoys the afternoons he sets aside for taking appointments from the general public, today has been particularly taxing: full of well-wishers for his campaign instead of constituents with opinions and _real_ comments on his policies. This old woman in particular, an Arkanisian on holiday in the Core, has been aggravating Hux for the full half-hour of their appointment.

Fortunately, there is only one more appointment today, after the woman leaves.

“I make time for all constituents and any citizens of the New Republic, Miss Inez. I am happy to hear from the people; it’s part of my job, after all.” He steps away from the low, glass table, away from the armchairs, and gestures at the door in the hopes that the woman will follow. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“And I’ll see you again soon!” Inez says, finally making to leave his private office. “I work in the mayor’s office at Scaparus Port. I’ll see you when you return to Arkanis for your trip in a few weeks!”

He barely manages to suppress a groan. “Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

She stops in the doorway and turns to face him again. “Oh, and I will make sure my niece, the one I mentioned, is at one of our dinner events! I would _love_ for you to meet her. I know you don’t have a spouse, Senator, and I think you would get along with—”

“Miss Inez,” Hux interrupts, jaw slightly clenched. “I apologise, but I do have another appointment. My assistant Esmelle will show you out.”

The plastered smile on his face is particularly fake as he watches the old woman pace down the hallway. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair and makes his way to his desk, mentally preparing himself for his final visitor of the day. (He also notes his hair is feeling particularly shaggy, and jots down a reminder to schedule a hairdresser droid.)

“Sending your next appointment in, Senator,” Esmelle’s voice buzzes from the intercom on his desk.

Hux stands, ready to greet his next appointment, but as soon as he sees the man in his doorway his lips twist into a scowl.

“What the _kriff_ are you doing here?”

Ben Organa strolls across his office, usual smug expression on his face. “Why, we have a meeting, Senator.”

“No,” Hux shakes his head, his hands curling into fists at his side. “No, we do _not_ have a meeting, Organa. You _cannot_ just waltz into my office however you please! I’m meeting with constituents and citizens today, and seeing as you are neither, you will kindly see yourself out.”

Organa tilts his head, his entertained expression still infuriating. “Who says I’m not a concerned citizen?”

“Esmelle!” Hux calls at his open door. “Esmelle, please send in my next meeting so that Master Organa will vacate the premises.”

“I _am_ your next meeting,” Ben insists.

Hux calls out to Esmelle once more before looking at the Jedi in his office. “No, you are not. My next meeting is with,” he pauses, glancing at the schedule on his console, “someone named—”

“Kylo Ren. I know. _I’m_ Kylo Ren.”

It takes all of Hux’s effort not to laugh.

“Yes, right, and I’m Wilhuff Tarkin. Now, _please,_ Organa, let me do my job?”

Esmelle _finally_ enters Hux’s office, with a look of confusion. “Senator?”

“Please send in my next appointment, Esmelle,” Hux repeats.

Esmelle frowns. “Senator, this _is_ your next appointment. This is Kylo Ren.”

Hux sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Never mind then, Esmelle. Sorry to call you in here.” The togruta shrugs and heads back to her office. Once the door shuts behind her, Hux fixes Ben with an icy stare. “What have you done to my staff?”

“Nothing permanent,” Ben shrugs. “Just made sure she didn’t recognise me, is all. Nobody who’s seen me will know I came to your office.” He flops down onto Hux’s couch, sprawling over it. “I got your passive-aggressive message. And I get it, the last time I was here, you were upset that I wasn’t subtle. So I used a little alias of mine to organise this appointment. Don’t worry, Kylo Ren has identicards and everything. No one will question the validity of this meeting.”

One of the pears in Hux’s fruit basket floats into Ben’s hand, and he takes a bite out of it.

“Why does a Jedi Master have an alias?” Hux remains behind his desk, unwilling to move any closer to the oaf eating his fruit and reclining on his furniture.

“Sometimes I need to travel under the radar,” Ben responds, his mouth full of pear. “The name ‘Organa’ attracts a lot of attention. So does ‘Solo.’ And sometimes I need to travel discreetly. Kylo Ren was the solution.”

“I don’t think anything you do could be considered ‘under the radar,’” Hux snorts.

Organa looks up from the pear, narrowing his eyes at Hux. “Excuse me?”

“You Jedi, especially _you,_ tend to have quite the flair for the dramatic.”

“I made this meeting happen and you didn’t realise it was me until I walked in that door,” Ben retorts.

Hux frowns, finally sitting back down. “Touché.”

“Mm. That’s what I thought.”

“Why are you here?” With an internal groan, Hux resigns himself to his fate of having to sit through this meeting. He hopes Ben can sense his frustration. “Why have you bothered to set up a scheduled meeting with me?”

Taking another loud bite of the pear, Ben raises an eyebrow at Hux. “There’s only one reason I’d come here, Senator, and that’s for a mutual interest of ours.”

Hux frowns. “And the general couldn’t bring me this request herself?”

“No,” Organa responds, a little _too_ quickly. “Besides, it’s always fun for me to take a trip to Hosnian Prime. And the view from your fancy office is nice.” He eyes the windows.

Silence falls between them for a moment, while Hux waits for Organa to explain himself. He clears his throat to steer Ben’s attention from the view back to the matter at hand.

Ben finishes off the pear in his hands before he turns to Hux with a mischievous half-smile. “Say, Senator, I do believe this is the first time you and I have been alone in a room together since—”

Hux bristles. He remembers exactly the incident Organa is referring to. “Since you almost got me fired?”

Organa sits up, tilting his head at Hux. “You’re still mad about that?”

Hux’s voice is halfway to a yell, and he’s sincerely glad his office is soundproof. “I was almost unemployed and homeless at nineteen because of you!”

“My fault?” Ben points at his own chest. “I was just a child!”

“You were fourteen and about to undergo your trials to become a Jedi Knight. Forgive me for assuming you were far more mature than you actually were.”

Ben huffs. “You’re exaggerating, anyway. You know Leia would have never fired you. She trusts and relies on you too much. And she did even back then.” He looks away, a defeated expression in his eyes. “She knew it was my fault. She knew you were just covering up for me.”

“Please,” Hux scoffs. “Then why did she make a show of berating me in front of the entire office, and threatening me with an end to my career?”

“An example. Just a show for everyone else in the office. And for you too, so you wouldn’t make the mistake again – not that you’d done it in the first place, but to make sure you never would.” He shrugs and stands. “She did know it was me, though, and I had my punishment. I had to break into the office of the senator who received the leak and rectify his memory.”

Hux shudders. At least he hadn’t had to experience someone leafing through his mind.

“But this is all beside the point, Senator.” Ben strides across the room, producing a small datapad from his breast pocket. He takes a seat at Hux’s desk, directly across from Hux. “The General doesn’t actually know I’m here. She didn’t want to bother you with this request, seeing as you’re in the throes of your campaign, but I know you’ll help, no matter the cost. Which, in this case, is literal.”

“What’s on there?” Hux nods at the datapad.

“A lot of numbers. All downloaded before I left base. The tablet isn’t capable of connecting to the holonet, for security reasons.” Organa hands the small, flat rectangle over. “We need extra funds.”

Hux raises an eyebrow as he accepts the datapad.

“I know you’ve already made your annual contribution to the Resistance’s budget, Hux”—Ben frowns—“but we need more. Some unexpected issues arose and we’re short.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say the First Order has been more…aggressive with our recon ships and probe droids.”

Hux purses his lips. So this is what Leia had alluded to during their conversation a few days ago. “I thought they were being relatively inactive? Lying low?”

Organa nods. “They’ve been keeping to themselves, yes, but this is when our ships and droids have infringed upon _their_ territory. Their patrols and scans have become more frequent and more thorough. And they’re under orders to shoot to kill. Probe droids don’t return, and pilots’ ships come back severely damaged.” He frowns. “If at all.”

“So, the funds are for repairs and replacements, then?” Hux turns on the datapad, taking a cursory glance at the numbers on it. “I thought the general set aside a significant amount of funds for that?”

“Yes, but the First Order’s increased vigilance was unexpected. That portion was planned to be put to new fighters and transports. A whole new squadron was planned. Instead, Leia has to choose between repairing and replacing the current X-wings and probe droids, or the new ships. And before you ask, she already tried other benefactors. Cloud City, Canto Bight, Naboo, even Corellia. It’s not enough.”

Hux regards him for a moment. “How much do you need?”

Ben points his chin at the datapad. “It’s all there. A few thousand, at most.”

Hux rubs his temple for a moment before wordlessly turning to his console to start the work. He pulls up his own budget, studying it carefully for what to adjust, places from where he can potentially set credits. He studies the information on Organa’s tablet, estimating the minimum amount the Resistance is missing. He goes back and forth between the datapad and his own console, pulling together the funds by shaving off various portions of his budget. There are several dummy accounts and many—too many—layers of encryption he has to go through in order to get the credits out quietly, but the amount of times he’s done this for the Resistance means the process is nothing new. To be on the safe side, however, he adds a few extra layers of security to each transaction.

As a senator, he's not technically allowed to be sending money to the Resistance, but Ben is (Hux begrudgingly admits) correct; Hux would always go out of his way to help them. Besides, if he has his way when he becomes chancellor, he wouldn’t have to send funds to the general through back channels.

_Hux._

His name, said in a warning tone and directly in his mind, makes Hux jump. “What was that?”

At the same moment, Esmelle pokes her head into the office. “Senator? Office hours are over.”

Hux realises only then that the Hosnian star hangs dangerously low in the sky. Has he really been working for so long?

Ben Organa is still seated across the desk from him, surprisingly quiet and with an expectant look on his face.

“I’m sorry, Esmelle.” Hux clears his throat. “Time got away from us. We were having a fascinating conversation. You may go home, I will see, um, Kylo Ren, here, out myself. Thank you.”

“Of course. Good night, Senator.” Esmelle waves as she leaves. “See you tomorrow.”

Hux turns back to his console and types out a few more lines before he realises something. He stops, looking up at Ben. “That…that was your voice, in my head?”

“Yes.” Ben raises an eyebrow at him. “Esmelle had already messaged your comm twice before she came knocking. It would be a little suspect for her to catch you typing away at your console while I watched, don’t you think?”

“You can do that?” Hux asks, uncharacteristically intrigued.

“I’m a little impressed you figured out my trick. It’s meant to be a…like a nudge or a poke to catch your attention. You’re not supposed to realise it came from someone, in this case, me.” He rubs his chin. “I suppose you could say this technique is the opposite of what I did at your reception.”

“Hmm. Well,” Hux says as he turns back to his console. “While I am begrudgingly impressed, I’d ask you to _kindly_ stay out of my head.”

Ben nods. “Noted. I’ll try to keep that in mind. I can’t help it sometimes, though.”

Hux’s fingers still on his keyboard. “You can’t help…your use of the Force? Aren’t you supposed to be a master?”

“The Force is very complicated, Hux. It has a will of its own. It chooses to tell me some things whether I want to hear them or not.”

It takes a lot of effort for Hux to will away the blush threatening to fill his cheeks. He really hopes his thoughts on Ben’s looks haven’t floated around the room because some cosmic Force wants Ben to know Hux finds him attractive. He shouldn’t even be thinking about this _now_ for kriff’s sake—

“For example right _now,”_ Ben continues, and Hux stops breathing for a moment. “The Force is telling me I’ll be leaving this office soon. Which I assume means you’re just about finished over there.”

“Ah, yes.” Hux exhales. A few more inputs on the console and he’s done. “There’s a few hundred less than you asked for, but it’s all I could do.”

“Even a few hundred credits short is still useful to the general. Thank you for the help, Hux.” Ben stands, plucking his datapad from Hux’s hand. “I’ll make sure Leia knows where the extra funds came from.”

“She’ll know. She knows which dummy accounts I use, and can recognise my work. But I appreciate the sentiment.” Hux raises an eyebrow. “I do believe this is the most civil we have ever been with each other, Organa.”

Ben swallows. “Yes. Maybe we should work together more often. Kriff _knows_ the general would appreciate that.”

The two stare at each other for a long moment, both unsure what else to say.

Ben is right, of course: working together, even just for a few hours, had been productive and the meeting was altogether… _agreeable._ Hux starts to feel uncomfortable with their straying from the usual routine of passive-aggressive bickering, remembering who he is talking to. An afternoon with Ben Organa? _Pleasant?_ That would not do.

“Right _now,_ I’d appreciate if you left my office,” Hux sniffs.

“There it is,” Ben chuckles. He strides across the office towards the door, Hux watching his every movement. Ben throws a last smirk over his shoulder as he leaves the office. “Oh, and I’ll be seeing you very soon, Senator.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings for: some mild mind manipulation with the Force, and a heck lot of politics...
> 
> as always, thank you to my amazing beta [Gefionne](http://gefionne.tumblr.com/)!! come say hi on [tumblr](http://bioticnerfherder.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/biotcnerfherder) :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something a little different this chapter. and as always, chapter warnings in the end notes!

Ben is no stranger to fancy galas.

With Leia Organa for a mother, he’s attended as many as his training on Yavin 4 would allow: mainly whenever he was on leave, visiting his mother on whichever planet the Senate was on that year, and usually only because his mother had wanted to keep an eye on him — to make sure he didn't get into any mischief, or…worse. As he got older, it ended up becoming beneficial for Leia to have Ben attend formal events. She claimed that with the growing rift between political parties, it was good for both sides to see him, to be reminded of the Jedi’s presence in their society. Ben hasn't been to one in years; not, at least, since before Leia’s scandal.

Kylo Ren, however, is a different story: _Kylo Ren_ has been to a few galas. Strictly for intel-gathering, of course. Schmoozing it up with the elite of Canto Bight and Naboo are not things Ben particularly enjoys, even if he _does_ like the luxurious robes Kylo Ren has the excuse to wear; much finer items than a Jedi should ever own.

Like most Senate-related functions, tonight’s attendees remain much the same faces as before Leia left. Despite the disestablishment of the Centrist and Populist parties in the wake of Tai-Lin Garr’s assassination, the various groups gathered around the grand hall are reminiscent of old party allegiances. It’s especially apparent that the grudges remain when the staunchest supporters of both former parties are practically standing in opposite corners of the room. Ben does note, however, that some of the guests _do_ socialise with each other; the animosity between the ex-Centrists and Populists has noticeably cooled since his last Senate gala, and the polarity between them is less obvious.

Speaking of which, here is a former Centrist now, making a beeline for him: Lady Carise Sindian, formerly of Arkanis, but now representing Birren.

Her dress is extravagant and could rival even that of the Senator of Naboo. It’s not entirely surprising, seeing as thanks to Leia’s ‘abdication,’ Lady Carise is technically Queen of Birren; why she chooses to hang around the Senate and not preside over her kingdom, Ben isn’t sure. It’s also ironic that her ascendancy to power is thanks to Leia, when Ben is _entirely_ certain that Lady Carise was instrumental in the scandal that ruined the galaxy's trust in his mother.

But he could never prove that it was her that hired the slicer, and not Casterfo (not legally, at least). And Luke warned him years ago not to dwell on the event; that it would only feed into a dark future that he had glimpsed before Ben was even born.

“Master Organa,” Lady Carise greets him when she gets close enough. “What an odd sight this is.”

“Lady Carise,” Ben replies, not even trying to hide the sneer on his lips. “Spare me the pleasantries.”

Carise scoffs. “Are these the kind of manners your mother taught you?”

“Only when dealing with people who are indebted to her.”

The woman opens her mouth to respond, probably something offended or equally scathing in return, but she's cut off.

“Ben,” Wedge Antilles says as he steps up beside Lady Carise, a warm smile on his face. “I didn't know you were coming tonight.”

Ben responds by pulling him into a quick hug. “I was on-planet. Leia had an invitation she wasn't using. Go figure.”

“Sounds about right,” Wedge chuckles. He turns to Lady Carise. “Sorry for interrupting your conversation, Lady Carise, but I haven't seen my pseudo-nephew in quite some time.”

Lady Carise smiles tightly. “Not to worry, Admiral Antilles. I was just leaving.” She nods at Wedge, sparing Ben a brief glance before turning to mingle with others in the crowd.

They watch her leave before Wedge turns to Ben, the same warm smile on his face returning. “Walk with me?” Wedge asks.

Nodding, Ben follows the admiral through the crowd to a large balcony jutting off from the grand hall.

The balcony is equally as fancy as the rest of the villa: glowing lights and flowering pots overflowing with colour decorate its marble railing, while the balcony overlooks the calm sea below. Republic City, outlined in lights, is visible a few klicks away, while in the distance behind it lie the mountains. Ben is not entirely sure who owns the villa but suspects it belongs to some member of the Hosnian elite, someone rich enough to own a property like this _and_ help run the Mothma Foundation. Not that Ben has anything against the charity: Mon Mothma perished to a complicated illness, and the institution set up in her name works toward more successful treatment for others. It’s just not quite what he’s here for.

Only two other guests are out on the balcony, and though they both seem engrossed in their own conversation, Wedge leads him to the opposite end. Ben knows why: Wedge will probably want to ask him about Resistance business, and over here they’re not likely to be overheard.

“It’s good to see you, Ben,” Wedge says as he stands next to one of the flowerpots. The bright colours almost drown him from view. “Any news?”

Ben shakes his head. “No. No new developments since–”

“I’m not talking about the Resistance, Ben. I get enough updates from your mother. I haven’t seen or spoken to _you,_ however, in over a year.” Wedge looks away from him, out over the sea, with a melancholic look in his eyes. “How is your uncle?”

Oh.

“I’m sorry,” Wedge shakes his head. “I shouldn’t put you on the spot like this. Nevermind, I—”

“It’s all right.” Ben tries to smile, even though he’s not entirely sure what to tell Wedge.

When Ben was much younger, his father once told him that he was a terrible liar.

“Uncle Luke is fine.”

But with Han Solo to teach him, he's sure that his ability to lie has improved with age.

“He encountered some especially rare books a few months ago,” Ben continues, “and he thinks he’ll be able to use them to find the first Jedi temple. He’s meditating a lot these days.”

A nostalgic expression washes over Wedge’s face. “More than he used to?”

Ben nods. “Definitely.”

“Well,” Wedge sighs in relief, “I’m glad he’s fine. How are you? You have one of those– those apprentices, what are they called?”

“Padawan.”

Wedge nods. “Yes. A padawan. You have one, don’t you? Or are you on your second?” He smiles apologetically. “Sorry, with so many students of my own it’s hard to keep track.”

“It’s fine,” Ben says, dismissing his apology. “You’re busy; we haven’t seen each other in a while. But yes, I have an apprentice. Going on five years now. Jaina will be ready to undergo her Trials soon.”

“Ah. Your first student ‘graduating.’” Wedge looks at him with pride. “You never forget your first student. Will you take a, uh, another apprentice, then?”

Ben frowns. “No. Not yet.”

Best not to explain why.

“Mm. Well,” Wedge says as he glances at his chrono, “I should get going soon.”

“You’re not staying?” Ben asks. “The party has barely started.”

Wedge chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m too old for these things. I only came to show my face. For Mon’s sake. I was on-planet to make sure everything at the Academy here is fine, but I’m needed back on Chandrila.”

“How are things there?” Ben vaguely recalls that the New Republic’s fleet has two academies, on Hosnian Prime and Chandrila; both, in fact, founded by Wedge. “Any troubles?”

“No,” Wedge sighs. “Not with the students or anything. With me, sure. I’ve got to teach through simulators now. It’s not the same as going up there _with_ my students.” He notices Ben’s puzzled expression. “It’s the bloodburn.”

Ben swallows. “I thought it was manageable?”

“Of course it is. And I’m managing it. Though at my age, each dose of hadeira serum is simply postponing the inevitable.” Wedge looks up at the sky, a wistful expression in his eyes. “Each time I break atmo I just aggravate my symptoms. Best to travel as little as possible. That’s why I’m on Chandrila most of the time.”

It’s sad, Ben muses, that the very thing Wedge loves to do most is what’s preventing him from _continuing_ to fly. Such is the case for most people with bloodburn, or at least the few Ben have met with the rare disease.

“There’s always room for you in the Resistance, Uncle Wedge,” Ben says lightly with a small smile, trying to alleviate the mood. “You know Leia would be thrilled to have you.”

Wedge chuckles. “I feel like I’m already a full fledged member, since so many of my best pilots end up joining the Resistance instead of the fleet. You should be telling your mother to stop stealing my students.”

“It’s not our fault they have a good moral compass and know where the _real_ fight is!”

“And who taught them that, hm?” The two share a laugh before Wedge continues. “But I’m too old for that life anymore. What I _can_ do is continue my financial contributions, and keep on sending you some damn good pilots. Anyway, I should really be on my way now.”

Ben walks back across the balcony with Wedge, exchanging another brief hug before re-entering the grand hall. As Ben watches Wedge weave his way towards the exit through the crowd, he stops to wonder when his uncle got so old. Or, at least, the man who _should_ have been his uncle.

If only his _real_ uncle hadn’t disappeared.

As Wedge ascends the stairs, he almost brushes shoulders with someone – someone far more interesting to Ben than anyone else currently here.

Senator Hux wears his ever-present arrogant aura, although today he actually looks the part; at least, more so than in his office yesterday. The two-week-old beard is gone, his red hair cut and groomed neatly back (a little _too_ neatly), while his midnight blue outfit gives his eyes a distinctive green shine, even from this distance. The clothes themselves are lavish, making Ben feel a little self-conscious over his own outfit of the same robes he wore to Hux’s reception. On the other hand, for _this_ event Hux has ‘upgraded’ to a long, multi-layered velvet tunic held together at the waist with a soft gold-coloured belt, over plain trousers and shoes that _match_ his tunic. Even his overcoat, draped over his shoulders like a cloak, is made of the same damn velvet.

The senator is by far not the most ostentatiously dressed at the gala. But for some reason, seeing _Hux,_ of all people, dressed up _this_ fancy irritates Ben.

He starts to make his way to the senator when he feels a tap on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

“Ben? Oh! It _is_ you.”

Ben turns, recognises the person immediately, and nods politely. “Hello, Sinjir.”

“Ah.” Sinjir Rath Velus smiles, and though Ben can tell he’s trying his best to be friendly, the smile is laced with discomfort. “Ben, my dear boy. Long time no see.”

“It has indeed been a while,” Ben comments sombrely, and if there’s any venom in his voice it’s definitely _not_ intentional.

Between his duties as Mon’s advisor and his friendship with Han and Leia, Sinjir Rath Velus was a familiar face during Ben’s childhood. Sinjir used to tell anyone who’d listen how Leia went into labour while the two of them watched Mon Mothma and Mas Amedda sign the Galactic Concordance, because Sinjir found the story entertaining _and_ it gave him a closer connection to the Organa-Solo family. Ben supposes it makes sense that Sinjir felt betrayed when the truth about Leia’s parentage was revealed – Sinjir had spent so many years trying to become a better man than that into which the Empire forged him, and to hear his close friend was the progeny of Darth Vader himself?

Like many others, Sinjir stopped calling on Leia after the scandal. But how could Ben blame any of them for their behaviour, when Luke had shown him a very different future if he’d been betrayed by his family in the same way? If Leia and Luke hadn’t been honest with him from a young age?

“Ah, my manners.” Sinjir goes around naming the four other people he’d been conversing with before calling to Ben, but Ben isn’t quite paying attention. There’s some older socialite-turned-philanthropist from Coruscant, the Senator of Neimoidia, a Cerean that Ben assumes is part of a senatorial delegation, and, much to Ben’s chagrin, Lady Carise Sindian.

“And this, colleagues, is Ben Organa. I’ve known Ben since he was born! How time flies…” Ben doesn’t miss how Sinjir fails to mention his mother. “How goes the New Jedi Order, Ben?” Sinjir asks him, mostly out of politeness.

“Excuse me,” the Coruscanti socialite interrupts before he can reply. “Did Rath Velus say New Jedi Order? Are you a Jedi, young man?”

Ben smiles as politely as he can. “Yes. A Jedi master, actually.”

The woman raises a delicate eyebrow and looks at him down her nose (which, Ben admits, is a quite a feat; she must have some impressively tall shoes underneath all the layers of her formalwear). “I don’t get out of the Core much,” she starts. “And I’m not too-well versed in politics. I’m here tonight as a benefactor. My dear late husband, rest his soul, suffered the same illness as Mon Mothma.”

“I’m sorry to hear.” Ben picks up from her mind that her name is Yvon. “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Yvon.”

“Oh it was years ago,” she dismisses. “But I must ask: what exactly is it you Jedi _do?_ We rarely ever hear about you anymore, on the news or the holonet. In fact, not much at all, as far as I recall.”

“Yes,” Lady Carise chimes in, and Ben turns to her with daggers in his eyes. She conveniently ignores them. “I’ve heard Luke Skywalker hasn’t made a public appearance in years. Has he even left Yavin 4 recently?”

Yvon tuts at Lady Carise before looking back at Ben. “I don’t mean to be hostile, young man. I simply want to know what is a Jedi’s role in our democratic society. I was a young woman in the days of the Old Republic, and I remember very well; they played a large role in its downfall.”

It’s at that moment, Ben notices, that an aide comes up to whisper something in Sinjir’s ear, and he silently slinks away from the group, following his aide. Disappearing into the crowd. _How convenient._

“There are many differences between the Jedi of the Old Republic and the New Jedi Order,” Ben says as he turns back to Yvon. “Fundamentally, our teachings are the same: we follow the will of the Force, and we strive to hold peace; to hold a balance.”

“I was born during the time of the Empire,” the Cerean comments. “I did not meet Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, but many on Cerea remember him. Our elders say he conducted himself like some kind of monk.”

Ben shakes his head. “We are not a religion, unlike the Church of the Force. We may have adopted some of their practices, but it is not the same. We train ourselves in the use of the Force and in combat. I’d say we are far from a group of anchorites.”

“So you’re not some kind of monk, then?”

Ben chuckles. “No, Miss Yvon. We are not monks.”

“Forgive me for asking,” Lady Carise interjects. “But are the New Jedi Order not celibate, then? If I recall correctly, that was the source of a great many… _problems,_ for the Old Republic.”

Lady Carise isn’t being subtle in the slightest; Ben knows exactly what she is referring to, and it pisses him off.

“No,” he retorts, a little too sharply. “We are not. Not that I see how that’s any of your business.”

It was actually Luke himself who decreed the old way of forbidden attachments was wrong. He said that the original message had been distorted over time by the old masters, that their rigid beliefs had led to their undoing. It wasn’t until Luke returned from an excursion to Dagobah, way back when Ben had yet to begin training, raving about some old letters addressed to Master Yoda, that he understood, finally, the pressure his father had faced and the misguided teachings that had driven him to the dark side.

But Ben doesn’t need or even _want_ to explain all that to Lady Carise Sindian, of all people.

“That’s all very well.” Yvon sniffs. “But I still don’t understand why an elite group of warriors following an ancient philosophy is necessary. We _have_ a military. Small as it is, they are still officially New Republic-sanctioned. The New Jedi Order are not officially affiliated with our government, are they?”

“They are not,” Ben begrudgingly admits.

“Then what makes the New Jedi Order different from any other Outer Rim militia?”

“Excuse me, Miss Yvon,” Senator Hux interrupts, suddenly appearing at Ben’s side, “but there are a great many differences. First and foremost, and most _importantly,_ the Jedi were instrumental in the defeat of the Empire and the formation of our New Republic.”

“But they were partly responsible for the fall of the Old Republic in the first place,” Lady Carise objects.

“There were a great many factors involved in the rise of the Empire, Lady Carise,” Hux counters cooly. “While the Jedi of old were flawed, and some of their ignorance to blame, the Empire would have risen regardless. With or without the Jedi, Palpatine would have seized power anyway. From this perspective, it is useless to put blame on them.”

Lady Carise’s upper lip twitches as if she’s avoiding a sneer. Ben is oddly impressed by her restraint, since _Hux_ was the one who defeated her in elections seven years ago, taking her job as Senator of Arkanis. Or as she thinks of it, ‘stole’ her job.

Yvon raises an eyebrow. “We meet again, Senator Hux. But you are quite young; how is it you know all of this?”

“I know my history, Miss Yvon.” Hux smirks, and Ben can feel a wave of arrogance drifting off of him. “I cannot plan for the future if I do not study the mistakes of the past. And I believe the Jedi are a very important part of our future, if we would like our government not to fall prey to a similar defeat.”

“How so? What is it they do that makes you think this?”

Hux glances at Ben, as if asking him if he wants to add anything, but when Ben says nothing, Hux sighs quietly and turns back to the group.

“I’ve known Master Organa here for quite some time. I’ve even had the pleasure of meeting Master Skywalker. But as I am not one myself, I can only speak on what I have gathered from knowing two such Jedi masters. They are not simply an elite group of soldiers to dispatch at our will; they are a symbol – a neutral, non-partisan group that serve all people of all systems. The Jedi adhere to the principles of service and sacrifice: they work against corruption and discord to restore balance and peace among us, often from the shadows, and often without seeking credit.”

Again, Hux shifts to look at Ben, and the rest of the group’s eyes follow. Hux raises an eyebrow, as if prompting him to follow up.

“Master Jedi?” the Neimoidian asks when Ben is silent a minute too long.

It is. And though Ben is loathe to admit it, he couldn’t have put it better than Hux has. He didn’t realise that Hux had been paying so much attention to what the Jedi did. He feels like he should have recorded Hux’s little monologue for future use.

“The senator is correct.” Ben swallows. “We are guided by the Force, and we go where we are needed. Whether it is to help a village rebuild after a flood, or to deal with raiders, we go where the Force tells us to go, and we do what we can to help.”

“The Jedi offer stability,” Hux adds. “They have been around for thousands of years, longer than any of the galaxy’s democratic governments. Though they’ve undergone many changes, for a group like theirs to have remained constant for so long is a sign of strength, of perseverance. Something which many planets are still struggling to regain in the long, cold aftermath of the Empire.”

“Hmm.” Yvon purses her lips, the corners tilted up slightly. “Well said, Senator. After watching your first debate against the other candidates for chancellor the other day, I was wondering how much of it was rehearsed. You speak candidly as well as you do prepared.” She turns back to Ben. “I do have one more query for you, Master Organa. Forgive me for being so inquisitive.”

“Not at all, Miss Yvon.” Ben nods once at her.

“Just how many in number are you Jedi? How do you find new Jedi; do you actively look for them?”

Ben frowns. “For the privacy of my fellow Jedi, I’m not at liberty to speak about our numbers. But like I said, we let the Force guide us; if someone is meant to be a Jedi, the Force will cross our paths at some point. We either find them, or they come to us.”

“What if they are children?” the Cerean asks, appearing to have found his voice again. “Do you take them away from their families, as the old Jedi did? Master Ki-Adi-Mundi left Cerea when he was just three years old!”

Ben tries not to glare at him. “We do not take children away from their families without either their or their family’s consent, depending on the situation, of course. I found my own apprentice in an orphanage on Akiva, along with her brother. They came with us of their own accord. And Tanma Bal, another master in our ranks, volunteered. She left her family and her siblings willingly, and her family were proud of her decision. Her younger sister also showed some Force sensitivity but chose to remain on Iridonia, with their family. We do not kidnap children against their will. They come to us.”

“What Master Organa is saying,” Hux chimes in, “is that if children or individuals with a proclivity for the Force are found, they are _offered_ a place on Yavin 4. Not forced. It is not by any means conscription. Now”—Hux gestures with a hand and dismisses the conversation, much too casually for Ben’s liking—“I do believe Chancellor Severi is about to address us. We should give them our utmost attention.”

Hux points at the raised podium at the front of the grand hall, and as if on cue the chancellor steps up and begins their annual tribute to Mon Mothma. The rest of the group turn readily, all-too eager to end their conversation. Ben notices Lady Carise give him one last once-over before she herself turns away, leaving him alone with Hux. Well, not technically ‘alone,’ but alone enough.

Ben closes his eyes and just breathes for a moment, gathering his concentration. He feels the Force flowing around him, he feels the energy of each person in this grand hall. If he reaches out he can feel past the walls, past the grounds upon which this villa sits, and further still, across the planet or even the Hosnian system if he desired; but that’s not necessary for what he needs. Though everyone’s gaze is currently trained on Chancellor Severi, a little more privacy would be appreciated if he’s to end the awkwardness he feels settling between him and Hux.

The mind trick is easy enough; Ben has simply never attempted it on so many people at once before. But with another few deep breaths to help him focus, diverting attention away from him and the man at his side is as easy as flicking a switch.

“I suppose,” Ben starts, barely lowering his voice, “I should thank you for interrupting that conversation to offer your support.”

“You’re welcome.” Hux doesn’t even bother to look at Ben, his eyes staring intently ahead at the podium where the chancellor continues to speak.

It’s the self-satisfied smirk on Hux’s lips that causes Ben to grind his teeth, to remind him of his usual annoyance around Hux.

“But I could have handled it myself. I didn’t need your help, _Senator.”_

Hux turns then, swiveling on his heels to face Ben fully. “Is that so?” he asks, raising one eyebrow.

Hux doesn’t even bother to lower his voice, or even pretend to be paying attention to the chancellor’s speech despite being surrounded by other people. Ben wonders if this means that, in some impossible way, Hux _trusts_ him – or at least trusts his abilities enough to mask their conversation from prying eyes?

Ben frowns.

“We may play the same game of war, Organa,” Hux continues, not sensing Ben’s wandering thoughts, “and we may even fight for the same team. But you and I play _very different_ roles. You play the game of the Force, and when the time comes, of combat. I, on the other hand, play the game of words. Of politics. This is my battlefield, Organa. I know it better than you. So please, trust me when I assure you that my interference was necessary.”

Around them, the other guests start to applaud as Chancellor Severi concludes their speech, bringing Sinjir up to the podium for his own tribute. Ben and Hux continue to stare each other down, neither interested in the goings on around them.

“You forget yourself, Senator,” Ben growls. He's rapidly losing his calm, and he knows he should back down but he _can’t;_ he’s never been able to calm down when Hux is around, constantly aggravating him. “You forget that I was raised in this life. I was born to the New Republic’s most infamous senator and a legendary smuggler who can talk his way out of anything.” That is, perhaps, too much of an exaggeration of Han’s abilities, but Ben can’t bring himself to care right now.

“Family ties aside,” Hux huffs, “this is still my expertise. Those senators would have pestered you with nonsensical questions for hours and be talking about their encounter with you for days if I hadn’t intervened. Instead, they’ll just be a little more knowledgeable of the Jedi ways. They can’t quite use that for political gain.”

“I can take care of _myself,”_ Ben insists. “I’ve been handling pompous senators like these ones my whole life. _You_ are only here because you decided to run away at fourteen.”

Hux’s upper lip curls at him in contempt.

But Ben just continues: “You think you’re extremely special, _Senator,_ that you’re needed, that the Resistance will not function without you, but let me be the one to tell you that you are not. You may be the closest senator to Leia but you are not the only one she could hold in her pocket if she so chooses. You are _replaceable.”_

_That_ is probably too far.

Instead of replying, Hux’s cheeks colour and he turns to leave.

“Where are you going?”

On an impulse, Ben grabs him by the wrist, not quite tight enough to hurt but with enough pressure to stop Hux from leaving. Hux is stunned silent for a moment, his eyes wide and staring at the fingers locked around his forearm.

“Speechless, Senator? Not so eloquent now, are we?”

“Let go of me,” Hux mutters. He jerks his arm, trying to dislodge Ben’s grip. Hux looks up, a slight rose tint on his cheeks and his eyes – not angry but…embarrassed? “Let go of me, _now,”_ he repeats.

Instead, Ben just holds Hux’s stare for a moment, trying to decipher what has got the senator so flustered. Hux finally wrenches his arm away more forcefully while Ben is distracted, and immediately retreats into the crowd.

Ben has perhaps gone too far this time, but it’s too late to take back the words now.

It isn’t until much later, well after Sinjir leaves the stage and the music starts up again, that Ben realises: in nineteen years of knowing Hux, Ben has never once touched him.

* * *

“Master.”

Ben sighs. _Of course_ Jaina would find him, even when he tried to get a last moment alone.

“Jaina,” he greets her, neither opening his eyes nor turning up to look at her.

Ben sits cross-legged in his favourite clearing, just outside the base on D’Qar. He headed straight here after returning from Hosnian Prime, and seeing that it was lunch hour on the base, he decided to have a quiet mediation session before throwing himself back into the chaos of meetings and training and planning and et cetera, et cetera. Alas, he's never been able to shake his padawan when they're in the same system.

(Which he should be thankful for, he supposes, seeing as it means he doesn't have to worry about her too much. He trusts she'll always find her way back.)

“Master,” Jaina repeats, a pout in her tone. “You're back.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn't even say hello.”

Ben sighs. “We are a long way from the Core, Jaina. I've had a long journey. I was simply trying to rest before we get back to work.”

“Mm,” she hums. Ben can feel her plop down beside him. “You didn't rest on your terribly ‘long journey?’”

“I can't meditate while I fly; you know this,” Ben says as he finally opens his eyes, just so he can roll them at her. “Shouldn't you be at the mess? Eating with everyone else?”

Jaina shrugs. “I'm not hungry.”

“Jaina,” he cautions.

His padawan, for some reason, has always had a problem with food. When she first arrived on Yavin 4, he and Luke had a tough time convincing her that there was more than enough to eat, and that she could have her fill. They thought at first it had to do with the situation Jaina had come from: she's always been fiercely protective of her twin, and when their orphanage didn't have enough to eat Jaina would give up her portion for Jacen. Enyo had no problem with Jacen; the kid ate his full at every meal. But Jaina on the other hand…it took Ben half a year to convince her they didn't have to ration food. It took him even longer to make sure she ate enough calories to sustain her training.

Which is something he's still working on.

“What?” Jaina throws her hands up innocently. “I ate breakfast and I'm not hungry.”

Ben uses the Force to lift her up by the shoulders, placing her on her feet, and gently shove her in the direction of the base.

“Go eat something, _then_ you can come back and bother me.”

“Eat anything?”

_“Yes,”_ Ben insists.

Jaina grins. “Great!” She marches the few feet back and sits right back down, pulling a ration bar out of her empty blaster holster. “This classifies as _something.”_

“Hey!” Ben groans. “All right, but I expect you to eat a full dinner. And I will be right there with you to make sure.”

“Thank you, Master.” She beams at him triumphantly and begins chewing on the bar.

Ben rolls his eyes again. “And don't get me started on your use of your holster. Tanma made that belt especially for you, she'd have a fit if she knew you were using it to store _snacks._ Where is your blaster, anyway?”

“Master Tanma has it,” she replies through a mouthful. “She had an idea for a modification and wants to try it on my blaster before adding it to any other Resistance ones. And she's the one who gave me the ration bar so she knows where I kept it.” Jaina pats her upper thigh. “No pockets on these leggings. Or my training tunic. Besides, I've got my lightsaber. I don't need my blaster around base.”

“Who says we're training today?” Ben huffs. “I've got to meet with the general. If you want training, you should join Enyo’s session with your brother.”

“They're not training either. Jacen is doing maintenance on your ship after lunch.” Jaina finishes off the bar and shifts her attention to its wrapper; it levitates above her palm, and with the Force she carefully folds it up as small as it will go before launching it into the surrounding jungle.

Ben sighs. At least it was a ration bar with a biodegradable wrapper. Otherwise who knows how many his teenage padawan has recklessly left among the flora.

“I thought Jacen hated my ship,” Ben says instead. “Why isn't he doing work on the _Ghost_ with Enyo? Or better yet, _training_ with Enyo?”

“Master Enyo is running drills with Black Squadron today. And Rose is assigned to your ship’s maintenance this cycle. Of course Jacen is tagging along with her.”

Ben frowns. “I'm gone for three days and suddenly you’re all busy…and, wasn't your brother going after that technician last week? What was his name?”

“Sujo? That was half a year ago. He left the Resistance to return to his home planet.”

“No.” Ben shakes his head. “I’m talking about another one, the Zeltron.”

Jaina chuckles. “Oh! Lok! He never caught on, so Jacen decided to move on. I guess the nuances of Jacen’s flirting style didn’t translate well.”

Ben also laughs. “Perhaps you should help your brother a little.”

She wrinkles her nose. “You know I’m not interested in that. I wouldn’t be helpful to him at all.”

“Mhmm,” he hums in response. Sighing, Ben stands up and stretches out his legs before motioning for Jaina to stand. “Since you’re here, we may as well go through some katas together.”

The teen grins and jumps to her feet. “Of course, Master.”

Ben decides to start off with a kata Jaina knows well, one that blends well with her personality: she has always been more of the defensive type, looking out for herself and her brother for years, so Jaina naturally picked up defensive lightsaber forms much faster. She quickly mastered Soresu but has difficulties with Djem So, something that Ben is hoping to rectify before she undergoes her trials.

The two get into their stance, side-by-side, and just breathe for a moment. Then, slowly, they stretch their hands out in front of them, above them, outwards, all around. Completely in sync, they extend one foot forward, the slow movements melting into quicker ones: step, stretch, another step, reach, turn. Kick, step out, twirl, jab, punch, drop. Their rhythm varies, fast-paced movements blending seamlessly with slow and vice versa. The katas are meditative for Ben, since he’s been practicing them for so long; since before Luke had even decided to settle the New Jedi Order on Yavin 4. By the time Ben underwent his trials to become a Jedi knight, he’d mastered all katas. It’s the reason he’s the only current Jedi that practices the lightsaber form Niman, a combination of the first five forms.

Ben takes the opportunity to ruminate on his trip one last time before he has to meet Leia. She’ll know by now that Hux sent extra credits to the Resistance, and she’ll definitely have figured out it was Ben who asked him. Ben hadn’t told anyone his trip was to Hosnian Prime, but no doubt Leia would have figured that out, too. She might be angry at him for having done this behind her back, but Ben is sure she’ll come around and be glad that he did, just because now they have enough credits for the repairs _and_ the new squadron. He doesn’t regret going behind her back, anyway.

He _might_ slightly regret how harsh he was with Hux at the gala. He should probably send him an apology, since he _did_ cough up the funds. And not necessarily…entirely of his own will.

“You’re thinking about him again.”

Ben almost stumbles in his movement. “Again?”

“So you don’t deny it.” He can hear the grin in Jaina’s voice.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Ben replies, not wanting to egg her on anymore. He drops out of the routine, instead turning around to face Jaina. “Move onto Unsu,” he instructs.

“You’re thinking about our favourite senator,” Jaina says nonchalantly, as she effortlessly transitions. “You were thinking about him before I disturbed your ‘meditation,’ too.”

He doesn’t take the bait; he instead watches her, making little adjustments to her posture here-and-there with the Force.

“I know you didn’t go to Corellia,” Jaina remarks after a few moments of silence. “I know you went to Hosnian Prime instead.”

Ben sighs. There’s no point in denying it to Jaina. “Yes,” he says as corrects another of her movements. “What of it?”

“You went to see him.”

“I did. We needed extra funds, so I went to the person most likely to help.”

Jaina hums. “And yet you still call him your rival?”

Ben replies through gritted teeth. “Of course I do. I’ve told you, that nerfherder has been trying to show me up to my own _mother_ for almost twenty years. That doesn’t mean I can’t work with him sometimes, to our advantage.”

The teen is grinning from ear-to-ear, now. “You think about him an awful lot for someone you consider a rival.”

Shrieking with laughter, Jaina trips over her own feet when Ben holds one of her ankles in place with the Force, sending her tumbling to the ground. She rolls over and hops back up, still giggling, satisfied with getting such a rise out of Ben.

The kicker was that Ben _had_ had a stupid, childish crush on Hux; when he was _twelve._ But the then-teen had been so mean to him whenever Ben had tried to make conversation, or spend time with him, of _course_ he grew out of it. He’d had to, especially when it became obvious Hux was constantly trying to out-do him for Leia’s approval. Though, now that he thinks about it, when had he started referring to Hux as a ‘rival?’ And why was Jaina bringing this up now?

“I’m bringing it up because,” Jaina wheezes, still recovering from laughing so hard, “because you’ve seen him more often in one month than you have in the past four years, Master. And you’re making even more excuses to see him again.”

Ben snorts. “I am _not.”_

Jaina grins mischievously. “You will.”

“Master! Jaina!”

The familiar form of Dar stumbles into the clearing, and Ben realises that the lunch hour has long past.

“I’ve found you!” Dar smiles at the two of them. “Jaina, Master Tanma has finished with your _rlaster_ and would like you to come _rack_ to her _workrench_ to test it. She is very happy with the result! And Master _Ren!”_ Dar gives him a slight bow. “Welcome _rack_ to _rase!_ Did your trip to Corellia go well?”

“Thank you, Dar.” Ben returns his nod. He gestures at Jaina and the three of them starting walking back to base. “The trip was fine. I trust everything here has been going well?”

The young Mon Calamari nods. “Yes! I’ve made progress with my _lightsarer._ And after meditating with Master Tanma, the crystal has turned green!”

“A green kyber crystal?” Ben sighs, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Just like Master Skywalker. You will have matching lightsabers.”

“Matching _sarers_ with Master Skywalker!” Dar gasps. “What an honour! If…” he sighs. “If only…he would return to us.”

Ben doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Instead, they continue weaving their way through the jungle, back to the Resistance base. Once they get there, Ben parts with the two padawan; Dar and Jaina head to Tanma’s workbench, a tiny little storeroom she unofficially took over, while Ben goes to the general’s office.

He doesn’t bother to knock on his mother’s door; she always knows when he’s on his way.

“Ben,” she greets as he walks in. Leia doesn’t look up from her console. “Come in. Sit down.” He does so, trying to shake the feeling of a guilty child about to be scolded. “How was your trip?”

He frowns. “I know you know by now. Let’s not sneak around it.”

Leia heaves a sigh, looking older than her years for a few brief seconds. She pushes back from her console, setting her elbows on her desk, and finally looks Ben in the eye. “Why did you ask Hux to send us the credits?”

“Because we need them. And he has some to spare.” Ben shrugs. “And he’s always willing to give.”

His mother looks at him for a moment, unimpressed. “Ben. What part of ‘under no circumstances will we ask him’ did you not understand?”

“I _understand_ Basic.” Ben scowls. “And I also speak Shyriiwook, Binary, Twi’leki, Huttese, and about ten other languages.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Leia snaps, “and you know it. I told you, this is a _sensitive_ time for Hux, and he was _not_ to be disturbed about Resistance funds! Have you any idea what would happen if he was found out?”

Ben scoffs. “I _know._ But he was the only option _left,_ Leia. Don’t you _want_ your new gunner squadrons? Don’t you _want_ to complete repairs on your current starfighter corps?”

Leia purses her lips, regarding him for a moment. “Yes, I do. So I should start by thanking you for getting the funds. But, I also want you to know that you should never do something like this again.”

“It’s not as if there are no other senators who fund us under the table,” Ben dismisses. “And you’d already asked them. He really was the only option left.”

“There are other senators who donate to us, yes. But I need you to understand this, Ben.” Leia pauses, taking a deep breath. “There are five candidates for chancellor. Besides Hux, the only other senator even remotely sympathetic towards me is Lanever Villecham, and even then he would hold firm on Mon’s peace policies. It would take an outright declaration of war for him to acknowledge the First Order. If we’re to have _any_ more support from the Republic, publicly or anonymously, then I _need_ Hux to be chancellor.”

“And if he doesn’t win the election?”

“Ben,” Leia sighs, shaking her head. “Then we continue to move forward, albeit as slow as we are now. But he’s poised to win. Of that I’m sure. I _know_ politics, and I _know_ the Senate – it would take a huge scandal to derail his campaign. For example, if he’s found funding _my_ little guerrilla group when as a senator he’s pledged to uphold the official demilitarisation act.”

“So him sending us funds is illegal, then. He would go to jail if he were found out.”

Leia frowns. “It’s not _technically_ illegal, no. As a private citizen he can use his money how he likes. The credits he sends us, however, are from his salary, which means it’s the Senate’s money. If he were found out, the Senate would call for his resignation and revoke his pension so that no more Senate credits can be used to fund a military organisation such as ours.” She sighs, rubbing a hand across her face. “I just don’t understand why he would do something so reckless right now. His encryption is as solid as usual, but even Hux knows, at the moment, he’s under extra scrutiny…”

Ben shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. Of course, Leia notices immediately and narrows her eyes at him.

“Ben…”

“I may have,” Ben coughs, “um, persuaded him. A little. Slightly. Not too much.”

“Ben!”

“It’s not as if I forced him to do it!” He crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “It wasn’t an outright mind trick. All I had to do was lightly tug on the string that is his sense of duty to the Resistance. He’s absolutely devoted to it because, for whatever reason, he’s terrified of the First Order and will do anything to make sure they’re stopped. Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t quit his job in the Senate to join us here.”

“Because he _knows_ how to play that game!” Leia hisses at him, the ire evident in her eyes. Ben turns away from her, unable to look at his mother when she’s like this. “Hux is exactly where I need him, where he can do the most to help us. I’ve no doubt he would do well here, on base with us, and I could certainly use someone who knows how to negotiate and can plan several steps ahead. He was even in military school for ten years! He would make an excellent commander. But he _left_ that life, Ben! He came to us for a second chance, and that’s what he’s doing in the Senate!” She rubs at her temples, as if that will help dissipate some of the anger. “And another thing. Why did you even go to that gala, anyway? You knew my invitation was just for show. It wasn’t really an invitation. They didn’t want me there, let alone you.”

His head snaps back towards Leia. “Because they’re forgetting about us, Mother! And not only you and I, and Han, and Luke, but about the Resistance! The Jedi! They’re forgetting about us, about all we do for them, and it’s time they remembered!” He stands, frustrated and unsure what to do with his sudden burst of energy. “I wanted to remind them that we are here, that we are still around. That we are doing well, we are fighting the good fight, and we will _keep on doing so_ whether they like it or not!”

Without another word, Ben leaves his mother’s office and heads back to his clearing in jungle. He needs to meditate. He needs to calm down before he destroys something with his lightsaber: a console, or a storeroom, even. He’ll meditate instead, alone in the jungle, and hopes this time he doesn’t get interrupted.

It’s as good a plan as any as he’s had in the past year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings for: discussion of chronic illness, manhandling (some via use of the Force), some mild mind manipulation with the Force, mention of disordered eating (and a slight mishandling of the situation). it's of note to mention Bloodburn is a canonical chronic illness suffered by pilots, mentioned in both Bloodline and Rebel Rising.
> 
> i'm sorry that Sinjir seems like such an ass in this chapter, he is actually one of my fav characters! but having been through what he's been through definitely makes me think he'd be really upset by the revelation of Leia's heritage.
> 
> thank you for all the comments and kudos!! and as always, special thanks to my beta and over-all cheerleader, the incredible [Gefionne](http://gefionne.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> **EDIT:** i commissioned the wonderful alexa for [art of Ben and Hux in their fancy gala clothes](http://pembroke.tumblr.com/post/163696509537)! it is so beautiful and i've stared at it for hours. please enjoy!!


	5. Chapter 5

“The itinerary is all set, Senator,” Korrie says as she kills the speeder’s engine. “Everything’s ready. Enjoy your three days off.”

Hux gathers up his datapad and the documents he was working on during the commute, gingerly stepping out of the speeder onto the side of the street. “I’ll see you at Scaparus Port, then.” He smiles at her. “You’ve booked your passage?”

Korrie snorts. “Of course.”

“Right. Thank you, Korrie.”

“Try to relax when you get to Arkanis, Senator. I don’t want to know what you do, but I expect you to be well-rested for the tour when I arrive.” She winks at him before starting up the engine again and driving away.

Hux rolls his eyes and waves her off, watching the speeder fade away among the rest of the traffic before he turns and enters his apartment building. Glancing at his chrono as he gets in the turbolift, he estimates he has about a half-hour left to get ready.

The three days before Hux’s official ‘homecoming’ tour are usually the only time off he gets: between all the official functions and meetings and office hours, his annual trip to Arkanis hardly counts as a holiday. His usual fare for his three days off include cracking open a bottle of brandy, reading, and, depending on where the Senate is being hosted that year, going out — on Hosnian Prime, in particular. Here, Hux can take a speeder down to Darropolis for an overnighter; the clubs are discreet, and Hux can keep a low-profile, especially for some casual fun. The _only_ fun Hux can have when he’s constantly under public scrutiny throughout the rest of the year.

Hux’s plans this year for his pre-trip respite were no different: he was going to spend his first day and night in Darropolis, and the rest reading a new holobook a constituent had gifted him (a manual on starship assembly) in the company of a bottle of Corellian brandy. He was then supposed to travel to Arkanis with Korrie while Esmelle stayed, as always, back on the capital world to keep Hux’s main office open.

The program changed when Leia comm’ed Hux about five cycles ago.

Hux was in the middle of sorting through his clothes, deciding what to take with him to Arkanis, so that it could be handed off to the laundry droid and returned in time to pack into his carry bags, when his small communications disk beeped. Hux scrambled to drape a coat over his plain pajamas and launched himself across the room to answer.

“General,” he greeted her. “What can I do for you?”

Leia wasted no time. “Hux, I understand your annual homecoming is next week, along with your short break. I am extending an invitation to tour the new base.” Her hologram smiled at him. “It’s been a few weeks since we last spoke face-to-face.”

“A visit?” Hux raised an eyebrow.

“I can arrange a discreet transport. An envoy can pick you up; make it look like you’re taking a private shuttle to Arkanis. The public will think you’re staying at your studio in Scaparus Port.” She huffed amusedly, “For once.”

Hux, of course, agreed to the detour (and the derailing of his plans).

When he finally gets out of the turbolift and to his apartment, Hux briskly strides through to his bedroom, peeling off his gloves and coat along the way. The carry bags are ready—they have been ready since yesterday—but Hux checks them one more time: inconspicuous travel clothes, toiletries, a week’s worth of formalwear for Arkanis, some casual garments, and the single pair of tactical shoes he owns. Still, Hux can’t help but feel woefully unprepared; after all, Leia neglected to mention what kind of terrain the new Resistance base is surrounded by. They could be on Hoth, re-purposing the old Alliance base Hux knows was carved into the ice there, and Hux definitely _did not_ own outerwear sufficient enough for that type of climate.

He can only hope that because Leia hadn’t specified whatever secret planet the Resistance was on, that it didn’t have _too_ extreme a climate.

Half an hour later, Hux slings one bag over his shoulder and rolls the other behind him as he crosses his apartment to the front door, planning to take the turbolift back down to meet the Resistance pilot in the foyer. The pilot would have trouble finding him up here anyway, seeing as Hux paid his landlord off not list him in the building directory. Esmelle called it paranoid, but Hux had successfully avoided pesky reporters, tabloids, and even determined constituents this way—unlike some other not-so-cautious senators—and Hux values his privacy.

So, colliding with a solid mass in his doorway is _not_ something he expects to happen. But it does.

“Oof!” Hux stumbles backwards, barely remembering his suitcase behind him and sidestepping it at the last moment. “What the kriff?”

“Why in such a rush, Senator?”

Hux doesn’t bother to hold in his sigh. How he hadn’t predicted _this_ is who Leia would send, he doesn’t know.

Ben Organa hasn’t budged at all within the doorframe, which he practically fills. “There’s no need to rush out of here when I’m supposed to be picking you up.”

“I was on my way to _meet you,”_ Hux counters, his upper lip lifting on one side in disdain. “Seeing as my apartment is _supposed_ to be private. How did you even—” He stops himself, narrows his eyes at Ben, and sighs. “Never mind. I won’t even finish the question. Damn Force-users.” He mutters the last part under his breath.

“What was that?” Ben raises an eyebrow. The amused-yet-annoyed expression in his eyes shows that he clearly heard Hux and is simply challenging him to elaborate.

“Nothing,” Hux sniffs, straightening his posture and refusing to take the bait. “I suppose I should have guessed the general would send you. Shall we, then?”

Handing Ben the larger of his bags, Hux shoos him out into the hallway and thumbs the securi-pad by his door, locking the house. He follows Ben to the turbolift, his lips pursed in annoyed silence all the way down, all the way to the street, where Ben guides him to a speeder.

“I’m assuming you’re doing that thing where no one is noticing us?” Hux asks, getting into the passenger side of the speeder and setting his rucksack between his knees.

“They’re noticing _you_ all right,” Ben responds. He hefts the large carry bag into the back of the speeder before climbing into the driver’s seat. “You need to be spotted leaving here, so that people know you’re going to Arkanis now. They won’t recognise me, though.”

Ben guns the engine, carefully navigating the speeder into traffic.

“So what’s the plan?” Hux asks, his eyes focused on the tall buildings whizzing past the speeder’s viewports. “How am I going to be on Arkanis _and_ wherever the new base is at the same time?”

Ben smirks. “It’s simple, really. There a private transport is leaving Republic City tonight, heading for Arkanis. One of the ground crew working at the spaceport _swears_ he saw you get on it. Meanwhile, your neighbours in Scaparus Port will remember seeing you arrive at the appropriate time.”

Hux turns and raises an eyebrow at him. “How will that happen?”

“I’ll take care of that when I take you there.” Ben wiggles his fingers and side-eyes him, still cutting the speeder through traffic with ease. “Is that a good enough cover up for you?”

Hux nods. “It’s good. If the general approved of it, it’s good.” Turning back to the viewport, Hux realises he knows the direction in which Ben is driving; in fact, he knows this route _very_ well. “We’re heading to the old base?”

“It’s still Leia’s property,” Ben answers as he nods. “We’re keeping the old warehouse as a private landing pad-slash-hangar for when we need to do business on Hosnian Prime.” Even though he’s not facing him, Hux can _hear_ the smirk in Ben’s voice. “It’s proved pretty useful so far.”

“For _you,_ probably,” Hux mutters under his breath. He’s not aware of any other Resistance people coming to Hosnian Prime since they moved base – apart from the thorn in his side, currently sitting _at_ his side.

The rest of the drive to the warehouse is silent, save for the purr of the speeder’s engine and the fading hum of the city as they leave it behind. When they finally pull into the familiar old building, Hux does a double-take when he sees the only ship parked inside.

“You came in _that_ thing?” Hux asks, incredulous. He scoops up his rucksack and clambers out of the speeder.

The ship—a Lancer-class pursuit craft is Hux’s best guess—is quite ugly and fairly beat-up, obviously having seen a lot of action over the years. It resembles a disk with two cylinders on either side, almost like the layout for a dinner plate and cutlery. The paint job is shoddy, peeling, and an unfortunate colour; immediately Hux feels more sorry for the ship than he does for the person who flies it.

“Hey!” Ben calls defensively, picking up Hux’s larger carry bag as he gets out of the speeder. “What’s wrong with my ship?”

Hux flashes a scowl at Ben over his shoulder, reluctantly stepping towards the craft. “I thought you flew around in a VCX light freighter.”

“The _Ghost_ belongs to Enyo,” Ben huffs as he jogs a little to catch up with Hux, matching pace with him when they’re shoulder-to-shoulder. “Family thing. This is _mine,_ and she’s a good ship. Not as fast as that hunk of junk my father used to fly, but definitely more reliable. I’ve never had a problem with the _Executor’s_ hyperdrive.”

Hux stops in his tracks. “I’m sorry — what?”

“The hyperdrive?” Ben continues walking, setting Hux’s bag down once he reaches the ship and gropes around for the lever to lower the ramp. “Never had a problem with it. The _Falcon_ is pretty infamous for its hyperdrive issues. Leia has probably told you the stories.”

“No.” Hux levels Ben with an annoyed stare, watching him lower the passenger ramp. “Did you— did you _name this ship_ after a _super star destroyer?”_

Ben grins. “Yeah. Darth Vader’s _personal_ star destroyer.”

Hux is sure he has a stupid expression on his face, because he is absolutely dumbfounded.

“How is that appropriate at all?”

“I like the irony.” Ben shrugs as if it makes all the sense in the world. He picks up Hux’s bag again and starts up the ramp. “When I acquired her she had some weird, cheesy name that I couldn’t stand, so I changed it. Something like _Cruel Mistress_ or whatever.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hux protests, reluctantly following the other man into the ship. “How is it at all appropriate for you, Ben Organa, to fly around and dock at spaceports in a ship called the _Executor?”_

The interior of the ship is small: the boarding ramp leads to a tiny cargo bay, which Hux follows Ben through to a sparse communal space with an oval bench wrapping around a bolted-down table. A meagre galley lies off to one side. The cramped cockpit is directly at the front of the spacecraft, opposite two closed doors, which Hux assumes to be cabins.

Ben drops Hux’s bag next to the table. “Technically, this ship is registered to Kylo Ren. So no big scandals there.”

“Yes,” Hux bites out. “Because _that_ makes it better.”

“Hux,” Ben says, amusement in his tone, as he turns to look at him. “It’s a joke.”

“It’s not a very funny one,” Hux huffs. He sets his rucksack down on the bench.

Ben stares at him for a moment. He exhales, shrugs. “Well, that’s not my problem. There’s only one cabin, so you can take that. I have a mat that I can set down here in the living area. Refresher is there.” Ben pauses to point at one of the doors. “There’s a sonic. The other door is the cabin. You can get settled while I do some pre-flight checks.”

Hux follows Ben to the cockpit, standing in the doorframe instead of crowding him into the obviously one-man cockpit. “I’m sorry — just how long is this journey? If it’s long enough to require a cabin and a shower?”

Sitting down in his pilot’s chair, Ben flicks a few buttons, and the panel below him comes to life. The ship’s engine purrs at their feet.

“The new base is in the Outer Rim,” Ben says over his shoulder as he continues tinkering with the control panel. “It’ll take about a day.”

“A _day?_ ”

Ben shrugs a single shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll get to Arkanis – and with some time to spare, too. It’s getting from the Core to the Outer Rim that takes time. The flight from D’Qar to Arkanis will be much shorter.” He glances back at Hux. “I’d suggest you buckle up, Senator. I’m taking off now.”

With a sigh, Hux resigns himself to his fate and goes to strap himself down on the bench in the living area. As he feels the ship lift off the ground, he reaches into for his datapad in his bag, just to have _something_ to do; he feels rather useless sitting back here on his own, not even able to watch Ben flying the ship because of the limited space in the cockpit. Not that Hux _desires_ to watch Ben Organa do anything, but it would be less boring than watching the blank wall of the communal space. The table doesn’t even have a dejarik holoboard for him to play against a computer. The small ship has little in the form of entertainment, so he settles for the first chapter of his starship assembly manual.

It’s not until he feels the subtle shift in flight, signalling they’ve jumped to hyperspace, that he realises he’s trapped on this cramped spacecraft with scarce entertainment for a day. With Ben.

He gulps at the thought.

In the weeks since the gala, Hux heard absolutely nothing from Ben. And why should he have? The man had made his opinion on Hux crystal clear that night: he only saw Hux as a tool for the Resistance. And though Hux took great offense at the insinuation, he hadn’t wanted to cause a scene (even if Ben had been shielding their conversation with the Force), and so he opted to walk away. He wasn’t going to stand there and explain his resourcefulness to someone who’d obviously made up their mind about him. But then Ben had tried to stop his tactical retreat, and Hux is positive someone had slipped something in his drink because the first thought that crossed his mind was positively _embarrassing._

He became flustered and then absolutely furious with himself for thinking only about how _large_ Ben’s _lovely_ hand was, and this was a man who had just spewed insults at him. Hux all but fled the scene like some scorned lover in a holodrama, making sure to stay on the opposite end of the hall for the rest of the night. Hux made his excuses and left the gala as early as was socially acceptable. The fact that a simple, _unwanted_ touch had riled him up like this signified that he really did need his annual three days off.

Yet here he is, running to some Outer Rim planet and _not_ relaxing or going out to his usual haunts, simply because Leia beckoned him.

Perhaps he _is_ in too deep in with the Resistance. It would certainly become easier when he wins the election and legitimises them as an arm of the Republic’s military: it would mean fewer responsibilities requiring his direct involvement, and less tiptoeing around secrecy. _That_ would be a welcome change.

The jingle of a seatbelt being unfastened catches Hux’s attention, and he quickly busies himself with his datapad once more, re-reading a paragraph he read five minutes ago.

“What are you reading?” Ben asks once he’s exited the cockpit, and Hux feels like he sensed his unwillingness to talk and is deliberately bothering him.

“About spacecraft assembly,” Hux grits out, not looking up from his datapad.

Ben breathes out a laugh. “Why?”

“Because it interests me.”

“Right,” Ben responds, sounding entertained. “In your interview with Anders Cuup you said engineering was a passion. I didn’t think it was true, though.”

So Ben had seen that interview.

“Why not?” He finally looks up when he hears Ben’s footsteps and watches him cross over to the galley.

“Why what?” Ben asks, pulling a few things out of the conservator.

“Why didn’t you think I was actually interested in engineering?”

Ben doesn’t look at him as he fixes up some food on a meal tray. “Because politicians do that shit all the time. They lie. They exaggerate. They twist stories to their advantage. Say things they don’t mean because it will get them political capital.”

Hux wrinkles his nose. “Come now, Organa. You’ve known me, what, almost two decades now? And I’ve been working with your mother for over three-quarters of that time. Between that and your mystical abilities, I’m surprised you don’t know me better.”

Ben stills for a moment, hands hovering. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I should.”

In the awkward silence that follows, Hux forces his gaze away and looks back to his datapad.

“I suppose you’re hungry?” Ben asks, after a while.

“Not very,” Hux admits, “but I should get some sustenance into my body.”

Ben snorts. “All right.” He picks up whatever he was preparing in the galley and brings two small trays over to the table, placing one in front of Hux while he takes a seat across from him. “You don’t have any allergies, do you?”

Eyeing the simple platter of cheeses, fruits, and bread, Hux shakes his head. “Just shellfish, which obviously is not on the menu tonight. Unless you have some extremely specialty cheese.” Hux notices an absence of any utensils on the table and goes to the galley himself to find some.

“You’re from a planet that is mostly water, and you’re allergic to fish?” Ben chuckles.

It takes some digging through drawers, but Hux finds his objective and returns to the table triumphant. He sees Ben eating with his fingers, a challenge in his raised eyebrow, and Hux decides not to comment.

“In all fairness, most of the water on Arkanis is _falling from the sky.”_

Ben hums around a mouthful of bread. “Does it really rain there as much as they say it does?”

Hux starts to cut the fruits and cheese on his tray into bite-sized pieces. “Even more.”

“No wonder you’re so pale.” Ben laughs at his own joke.

“I am _pale_ because most of life has been spent indoors. Between the star destroyers in the Unknown Regions and the Senate offices, I’ve barely had the chance to bask in sunlight.” He rolls his eyes at Ben before finally picking at his food.

The rest of dinner, if one could even call it that, is quiet. They both eat fast, and before Hux knows it, Ben is sliding their trays off the table and returning them to the galley. Hux offers to help clean up, but Ben dismisses him with a sarcastic “You’re my _guest,”_ and a smirk, so Hux instead resolves to move his bags into the cabin and settle down.

Once he’s moved his bags, Hux goes into the refresher for a quick sonic before turning in for the night. Even though it’s not as soothing as a real shower—he definitely regrets not having had time to have one before leaving his apartment—it’s a relief to feel all the sweat and grime of the day fading away. It’d been a long day of running back and forth between the Senate chambers and various offices in preparation for his break and Arkanis trip, but Hux isn’t surprised at the Senate being this busy. It _is_ very close to the elections, after all.

He dresses in soft sleep pants and a sweater before he exits the refresher. The communal area is tidied up, and a mat has been set down in the space between the table and the galley. However, Ben is nowhere to be seen. Shrugging to himself (it’s Ben’s ship, after all, and he can do whatever he wants on it), Hux helps himself to some water from the conservator to quench his thirst before he sleeps. He turns to retreat into the cabin when he hears grunting from the cargo bay below. Curiosity overtakes him, and he approaches the top of the ramp heading to the lower deck.

Once the cargo bay is in his sights, Hux stops short: the small, bare space of the cargo bay has been converted to some sort of rec area, and right in the middle of it lies Ben, doing some sort of exercise, his notably bare chest gleaming with sweat. Hux is loathe to admit it’s a very _nice_ chest. It felt very hard when he’d bumped into it earlier, in his apartment’s doorway, and looking at Ben now has Hux realising how very _solid_ the other man is. It stirs something within Hux that he doesn’t quite want to think about now.

“Staring is rude, you know.”

Hux starts and takes on a defensive tone: “I was just coming to see what the noise was. The refresher is free now, by the way.”

“Thanks. You should get some rest,” Ben grits out between crunches. “D’Qar runs on a different cycle than Hosnian Prime. When we arrive it’ll be morning there but night on Hosnian Prime.”

“D’Qar? Which system is that in?”

Ben does a few more crunches, letting out a few breaths and some more grunts. “Ileenium System.”

It sounds vaguely familiar, but Hux wouldn’t be able to point it out on a map.

“Are you just going to stand there and enjoy the view?” Ben asks after a few minutes.

“Good night, Organa,” Hux huffs.

“Why do you always call me by my surname or my title?” Ben asks, before Hux can escape. He ends his workout routine, standing up to reach for a small towel hanging on a random wrung on the wall. “You can just call me Ben, you know.”

“All right.” Hux says nothing else, but remains where he is.

“This is where you say I can call you by your first name,” Ben prompts. He’s got his usual amused smirk on his face.

Hux shakes his head. “No, you may not.”

“Why?”

“When we first met,” Hux sighs, “I told you my name was Hux. That hasn’t changed.”

Ben’s brow twitches, and he looks up at Hux with interest. “But you never gave up your real first name. Why did you keep ‘Armitage?’”

Hux purses his lips. Should he answer, or should he end the conversation and go to sleep?

“I almost didn’t,” he finally answers. “I almost asked your mother to file me under a different name. Something like Callan.”

“Callan?” Ben laughs. “Callan Hux? That’s terrible. Armitage is definitely better. Is that why you kept it?”

“No, actually.” Hux frowns. “I came to Yavin 4 for a new start, but I couldn’t let myself forget where I’d come from.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “You mean, Imperials?”

“From the First Order,” Hux corrects him. “Like I said at the gala…” Hux thinks he sees Ben flinch, but the movement is too subtle to be sure, so he continues, “I cannot plan my future if I do not know my past. So call it frivolous, but I kept my first name as a reminder. Not only of where I come from, but of what’s coming.”

Ben stares at him blankly for a long moment before shrugging. “You could have just told me you prefer Hux.”

“When have you ever taken into consideration my preferences?” Hux rolls his eyes. “Don’t answer that,” he cuts Ben off. “I’m going to bed.”

“Goodnight, Hux.” There’s Ben’s smirk again.

Hux hesitates. “Goodnight, Ben.” He tries out the name, testing it out on his tongue, but it feels off. Hux retreats back to the cabin.

The single bunk is just shy of being comfortable, and Hux briefly wonders how Ben, who is similar to him in height but much wider (and bulkier, as he’s just seen), can possibly sleep here. He doesn’t have time to think about it for long, though, as he falls asleep soon after his head hits the pillow.

That night he dreams of Callan Hux, the man he could have become. In his dreams, Callan is a freelance engineer. Callan travels from system to system, taking on projects as he chooses, seeing as much of the galaxy as he can. He has a different lover in every port. The faces around him are constantly changing. Callan has no home, no family, no friends, no purpose.

When he wakes up, after who knows how many hours, Hux is grateful he did not follow that path.

The first time he leaves the cabin to go to the refresher, Ben is still fast asleep on the mat in the living quarters, blocking Hux’s path to the galley. He instead gulps a few mouthfuls of water from the sink in the refresher to moisten his sleep-parched throat, glad that at least the sink has water even if the shower is a sonic. He curls back up on the bunk with his holobook once more, drifting in and out of sleep every few pages or so. When he finally hears shuffling about in the refresher next door, he assumes it’s safe to head to the galley and retrieve something to eat — and about time too, seeing as his stomach has been starting to growl at him in complaint.

He’s chewing on a protein bar he found on a shelf, standing in front of the conservator with one arm hugged around his chest, when Ben finally makes an appearance out of the refresher (an annoyingly bare-chested appearance).

“Good morning,” Hux greets him.

“Same to you.” Ben nods and approaches him, reaching for another one of the same protein bars. He gestures for Hux to sit down and retrieves two pre-packed pouches of liquid, tossing one at Hux. “Did you sleep well?”

“Oddly, yes.” Hux prods at the package in his hands, interest in the protein bar lost for now.

“It’s jogan fruit juice,” Ben helpfully supplies.

Hux wrinkles his nose and pushes the pouch at Ben. “Too sweet for me. I’ll just have water. Or blue milk, if you have it?”

Ben shakes his head. “Just water. And it’s your loss; this stuff is great.” Ben picks up the second pouch and returns it to the conservator.

“I prefer the actual fruit itself. And I like meiloorun better.”

“Noted, Your Majesty.” Ben smirks and sits down opposite him. “We still have a few hours to go. Not many; you slept for a long time. They’re really wearing you down at the Senate, huh?”

“I’ve been up for a while. You slept longer than I did,” Hux protests.

“You went to bed far earlier than I did.”

Hux hums. “What’s the climate like on D’Qar? Not too extreme, I hope?”

Ben considers the question for a moment, sipping at his juice pouch. “Temperate. A little on the warm and humid side, but not overly so. Plenty of jungle outside the base, but you won’t be going there. You’ll be fine with what you’ve brought.”

After breakfast (though Hux hesitates to call it that, but it's more than he usually eats on his way to office), they settle into their separate spaces again. Ben goes between checking their status in the cockpit and doing something in the cargo bay—Hux dares not to go look this time—while Hux goes back to his holobook. Sadly, there's no chapter on Lancer-class crafts but there _is_ one on Corellian light freighters; Hux tucks into that one with interest. Maybe he can finally understand all the hype surrounding the infamous _Millennium Falcon_.

What simultaneously feels like mere minutes and several hours later, Ben instructs Hux to strap in as he brushes through the living quarters on his way back to the cockpit.

“I don't get to see the planet?” Hux asks, following after Ben.

“Well,” Ben hesitates, pulling them out of hyperspace as soon as he sits down, “just...hold onto something.”

As the lines of stars outside the viewport fade to specks around them, Hux can see why: the green planet they're heading for is surrounded by an asteroid belt in rings. He grabs at a handlebar above the pilot's chair.

“We're not actually flying _into_ the asteroid belt, are we?”

“Quickest approach is skirting just below it. There'll be a few asteroids straggling into our path, but easily avoidable. Going around the belt adds an extra hour to the flight time.” Ben glances over his shoulder. “You sure you want to stand there?”

“I am perfectly capable of holding on,” Hux chides. “And I never get to see things like this. Let me have some fun.”

_“Fun?”_ Ben grins at Hux. “I didn't know you knew anything about _fun,_ Hux.”

“Kriff off, Organa. Besides, I thought you said you didn't know me?” Hux can't help the entertained smirk crossing his lips.

Ben scoffs. “Hold on, then. I'll try not to throw you around too much. But when we break atmo you have to buckle in; I'm not getting in trouble with Leia for damaging the next chancellor.”

The view is stunning. Hux hasn't seen a planetary approach in years, possibly since his early days as an aide in Leia's office. Usually, he's sitting in the back of whatever transport he's in with no viewport to look out of. Ben pulls a few fancy maneuvers, swerving the ship this way and that to avoid a floating rock from time to time. True to his word, Hux retreats to the living quarters to strap in just before they enter D'Qar's atmosphere, regretting his loss of view. Once they're on solid ground, and the hum of the engines has receded, Ben exits the cockpit, and Hux follows him down the ramp to the cargo bay, waiting for the loading ramp to lower.

The conditioned air of the ship starts to feel heavy as soon as the vacuum seal of the cargo bay is broken, the air bogged down by far more humidity than Hux is used to. Ben said ‘mildly humid;’ this was _mild?_ Although, in comparison with what he remembers of the muggy jungles of Yavin 4, D'Qar's air is _much_ easier to breathe, so Hux supposes to Ben it _is_ only moderately humid.

Underneath the sound of hydraulics of the ramp, Hux can just make out at least three different bird calls and some buzzing he assumes to be an insect, both local fauna in the jungle. Louder than those sounds, however, are the humdrum of human activity: voices intermingling, the clink of tools working on something, a droid beeping rapidly in Binary and someone arguing right back in Basic, the hum of a generator, a cart being rolled by. These things all come into view as the ramp lowers, and when it finally touches the ground, one more thing comes into view.

“Hux,” Leia greets him, with a smile. “Welcome to D'Qar.”

* * *

Leia gives him the full tour of the base. It reminds Hux of Yavin 4 in many ways, and not only for the climate; there are also the old stone structures (not quite as impressive as the Massassi temples, but almost as old) that house most of the command headquarters, painting an odd picture amongst the more recent and hasty constructions for extra housing and storage.

They dine in the canteen with the rest of the Resistance personnel, but alone at their own separate table, since everyone avoids them, seeming to think they're discussing something important. They're _actually_ just chatting about the latest Senate gossip Hux brought from Hosnian Prime, though these officers don’t need to know that. He does notice that the three padawan he knows—Jaina, Jacen, and Dar—mingle with others at lunch, while masters Tanma and Enyo are seated in the corner on their own, heads bent in deep conversation. Hux wasn't surprised to see Enyo's ship out on the grass next to the _Executor._ Wherever Ben is, the two other masters and all of their padawan seem to follow.

Ben, however, is not at lunch.

After lunch, in Leia's office, is where the _real_ ,‘serious’ discussions happen. But even those don't last too long, and by mid-afternoon Leia whisks Hux back outside to the landing platforms to see “some people who are eager to meet you.”

Hux is greeted by a line of orange and yellow: pilots in their flight suits.

One of the pilots stalks up to him and Leia, a BB-unit rolling closely behind him. He looks familiar, but Hux can't quite place him: the tanned skin, the dark curly hair, and the big grin on his face. A single curl displaces itself and bounces across his forehead as he walks over.

“A pleasure to meet you, Senator Hux.” He holds his hand out for Hux to shake. “I'm Commander Poe Dameron, Black Squadron leader.”

“Poe Dameron,” Hux parrots, shaking the pilot’s hand. “You seem familiar, Commander. Have we met?”

“Indirectly, Senator,” Dameron says as he flashes Hux a charming grin. “I was an officer in the New Republic’s fleet. I was there when you and a few other senators toured Starfleet HQ a few years back, but us starfighter pilots only went down the line introducing ourselves, not one-on-one. So it’s a pleasure to _officially_ make your acquaintance, sir.”

Hux isn’t sure if he finds Dameron enthusiastic, charming, or annoying. Perhaps a combination of all three.

“The pleasure is all mine, Commander Dameron,” he responds instead. “I’m glad to meet the people who are going out into the galaxy and doing the work that needs to be done.”

“That’s why we’re all rooting for you in the election. The Senate needs some changes.” Dameron winks at him.

The BB-unit at Dameron’s feet coos and whistles, and though Hux can’t understand Binary he gets the idea that the droid wants to be introduced as well.

“All right, buddy,” Dameron chuckles. “This is BB-8, and it’s a total attention-seeker. It’s also really pleased that _Black One_ is being repaired, thanks to you and some of our friends over in Cloud City. BB-8 hates flying in any other X-wing.” The droid makes a sound of protest, and Dameron laughs again. “But speaking of which, you’ve got a few others waiting to meet you as well.”

Dameron beckons the rest of the pilots forward, all dressed up in their flight suits, and all, unfortunately, grinning broadly at him.

“Senator Hux,” Poe announces, “this is Dagger Squadron. The newest squadron of gunners in the Resistance Starfighter Corps, fully formed thanks to your last financial contribution.”

A keshian steps out of the row, offering his hand to Hux, which he shakes. “Captain Iolo Arana. I’m the commander of Dagger Squadron. It’s good to meet you, sir.”

Arana goes down the rest of the line to introduce his squadron. There's another keshian, two humans, a sullustan, a togruta. Hux follows Arana, shaking each of the squad's hands but not quite catching their names: Fexim, Paige, Wyk... Hux can't quite keep up, but he smiles awkwardly at them nonetheless.

Arana announces they're going up for some drills and they would be pleased if he stuck around to watch, so Hux follows Poe Dameron to a nearby field to watch Dagger Squadron fly above them. Dameron finds the need to explain every maneuver, and though Hux can recognise a few (having studied them in a past life), he listens intently, eager to take a lesson in fighter tactics from this experience.

Unfortunately, Hux is stuck with the pilots for dinner. Leia has long since disappeared, and Hux learns from Arana that she doesn't normally take her meals in the canteen. Dameron insists that it's just fine, Hux will eat with them, and one of the pilots can take him back to the hangar where Ben and the _Executor_ await. They're joined by some other squadron leaders and pilots, though there are so many new people at once that Hux can barely keep up with the names. In the Senate, he has Esmelle and Korrie to help him, and he has time to study and get to know each senator and their delegation. Here, in the canteen, it's complete chaos.

Hux almost wishes he could sit at Tanma and Enyo's solitary table in the corner, where they seem to be having a peaceful, quiet conversation. Unlike the rowdy and excited pilots he's ended up with.

“This way, Senator.” One of the pilots gestures at him to follow after Dameron finally, _finally_ declares their meal over. The rest of the canteen had cleared out a half-hour ago.

“You don't have to show me the way,” Hux insists. He can't quite remember this pilot's name, though she's in Dagger Squadron and among the first to have been introduced. Paige? Kara?

“Oh no.” She smiles at him, leading him out of the canteen and down a hall. “Orders from Captain Arana. Wouldn't want our guest getting lost on base, would we?”

The hall twists through one of the old stone structures, and it’s darker than Hux anticipated. He’s suddenly grateful for the escort.

“Thank you, then. I appreciate it.”

Footsteps come up behind them, and Ben suddenly appears, tapping the pilot on her shoulder.

“Tico,” he says when she stops. “I've got it from here.”

She nods. “Sure thing. Was just on my way to take him to you, actually, so that saves me a walk.”

“Thanks. And when you see your sister, tell her that the work she did on the _Executor's_ motivator is excellent. I've never had a smoother ride.”

“Will do, sir,” the pilot says, grinning. “Rose will love that.” She bids both of them goodnight and walks away down another hallway.

“Long day?” Ben asks as he starts walking again.

Hux falls into step beside him. “You could say that. It was certainly interesting.”

Ben snorts. “You _would_ say that. It's fine; you'll pass out as soon as we take off. I'll have you on Arkanis by lunchtime tomorrow. Their time.”

“Mm. I hadn't thought about it, but sleep sounds heavenly right now.”

“You think _you're_ tired? You didn't go through rigorous training today!”

“So that's what you went off to do after you disappeared this morning?” Hux raises an eyebrow. “Jedi training with Jaina?”

Ben nods. “She still has to work on a certain form before she can do her trials. She's almost there, though. She'll be ready pretty soon. Very soon.”

Even in the dark, Hux can see the pride in Ben's eyes when he talks about his student. It's admirable, to say the least.

“So once she completes her trials, what does that mean?”

“It means she's no longer a padawan,” Ben explains. “She would be a Knight.”

They exit the old building then, striding down the pathways to the outdoor landing platforms. The sun has set, and from what Ben said about the long day cycles on D’Qar, Hux can only assume it’s really late.

“And would she no longer be your apprentice?”

Ben shakes his head. “Not technically. But the bond between master and apprentice is lifelong. If she ever needs guidance, she is always welcome to consult me. Of course, that goes both ways: if I ever need guidance, I can go to her.”

Hux huffs out a laugh. “Why do I get the feeling the latter will end up being the case more often?”

“Because it already is,” Ben chuckles. “Jaina is smart. She has a lot to learn, but she will be a great Jedi.”

As if on cue, once they round a group of parked X-wings, Jaina appears, along with the rest of the pack of Jedi that seem to always stick around each other. Tanma and Dar load something on antigrav-carts up the ramp of Enyo's ship, while Jacen and Jaina help Enyo pack another container.

“Are those spare parts?” Hux mutters quietly to Ben, since they haven't been noticed yet. Though the Jedi probably already knew they were coming; some Force thing.

“Tanma likes to tinker. She's pretty good at it; she's already developed a few weapon mods that are in Resistance blasters right now.” Ben raises his voice. “You're all set to go?”

Enyo doesn't miss a beat in her response, as if she knew they were there, just as Hux suspected. “Just about. This is the last container we're taking with us.” She looks up at Hux. “Senator Hux, sorry we didn't get the chance to speak earlier. I'm sure you enjoyed your tour of the base.”

He nods. “I did, thank you. The Resistance seems to have made themselves at home so quickly.”

“We have. D’Qar has been much better to us than Hosnian Prime. It’s secluded; we’re the only intelligent life forms on the planet. It’s freeing.”

“Are you sure about the intelligent life forms?” Jaina asks, closing up the lid on the last container.

“Jaina,” Enyo warns her. She looks at Ben and says something in a language Hux recognises as Twi’leki.

Ben throws up his arms in surrender. “We were once teenagers, too, Enyo.”

Enyo sighs. “Just get the container onto the _Ghost_ when Dar brings the antigrav-cart back, all right?”

“Yes, Master,” Jaina and Jacen say in unison.

“What about Dar?” Tanma chimes in, reappearing from the belly of the ship.

The Mon Calamari padawan follows after her, the cart in tow. “What _arout_ me?”

Jacen gestures at him. “The cart, Dar. We’ve got the last container ready.”

“Oh!” Dar smiles and happily brings it over to them. While the twins load the container on, he turns to Hux. “Greetings, Senator Hux! I hope you enjoyed your visit to the _rase._ Will you visit us again soon?”

“That depends on the result of the elections, Dar. But thank you, I did enjoy this trip.”

“I am happy to hear it!” The young padawan grins at him before turning to Ben. “And Master _Ren!_ Master Tanma says I will _re_ _arle_ to finish constructing my _lightsarer_ when we arrive _rack_ on Yavin 4!”

Ben smiles at both Dar and Tanma. “Excellent news, Dar. Why don’t you and the twins stow the last of the blocks in the cargo bay?”

With a cheerful “Yes” Dar follows the twins and the antigrav-cart, leaving the three Jedi masters and Hux alone.

Hux rubs his nose, stifling a laugh. “Dar called you Master _Ren._ Is that how you came up with the surname for your silly alias?”

Tanma sighs, and Hux thinks he hears her murmur “Here we go.”

Enyo, on the other hand, glares at Hux. “How do you know about Kylo Ren?”

Ben opens his mouth to respond but Hux talks over him: “Master Ben came to my office with an appointment under Kylo Ren when he was asking for the funds.” Hux tilts his head in confusion. “Is that a problem?”

Enyo turns to Ben with fire in her eyes. “You used Kylo Ren. In an appointment. With a senator. On a Core world.”

“Yes?” Ben looks back at her, seemingly unaffected by her ire at all, and gives her a confused look. “What of it?”

“Kark it, Ben!” Enyo yells. She throws up her arms and sighs exasperatedly, lowering the volume of her voice. “If word gets out? How will _anyone_ in the Outer Rim take Kylo Ren seriously anymore? How will Kanjiklub _ever_ agree to meet with Kylo Ren again?”

“Word won’t get out, Enyo,” Ben answers her through gritted teeth, obviously reining in his own temper.

“No one? Visitors to Senate offices are public records!” Enyo’s demeanor changes then, and she starts rapidly speaking in Twi’leki. To his surprise, Ben responds in the same tongue with ease, and their argument continues that way.

Hux suddenly feels extremely awkward to be witnessing this. The padawan choose an ideal moment to return from the ship, and Hux turns to Jaina, clearing his throat to catch her attention.

“Are they, um...are they always like this?”

“Master Ben and Master Enyo?” Jaina seems positively bored, is not even watching the two masters clashing in Twi’leki, which answers Hux’s question. “The two of them grew up together.” Jaina shrugs. “They are practically siblings. Of course they’re always like this.”

“And you’re like this with your brother?”

Jaina glances at Hux, her expression questioning. “Of _course._ We get along just as much as we fight. That’s the nature of siblings.”

“Mm,” Hux hums. He turns back to the bickering pair. “Well, forgive me if I don’t understand. I never had any brothers or sisters.”

“You’re welcome to take my sister,” Jacen offers dryly. “Sixteen years is enough for me.”

Jaina punches him in the bicep, which Jacen then rubs furiously as he frowns at her.

“Jacen,” Tanma sighs, also sounding bored, “you wouldn’t survive three days without your sister.”

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering, not for the first time, how he got tangled up with these ridiculous Jedi. It was _definitely_ time to go.

“Excuse me, Master Enyo,” Hux interrupts the still quarreling Jedi Masters. “I am very sorry to interrupt. You should know that my office keeps very secure records, and unless specifically requested by the Senate, we do not release them. But I am by no means involved in Master Ben choosing to come to my office under the name Kylo Ren. _That_ is something for you to discuss, but I believe right now I am promised transport to Arkanis.”

Ben and Enyo immediately cease their argument, looking at Hux in surprise for a moment, before Enyo straightens her posture and clears her throat.

“You are correct, Senator. _We,”_ she says as she pointedly looks at Ben, “will settle this another time. It’s time to depart.”

Dar gasps. “Are we taking the senator to Arkanis?”

“No, Dar,” Tanma responds. _“We_ are going to Yavin 4. _Master Ben_ is taking the senator to Arkanis.”

“Oh.” Dar sounds disappointed. “Well, nice to see you again, as always, Senator!” He smiles broadly and waves. “Fly safely, Master _Ren!”_

“Yeah, yeah,” Ben huffs, still frustrated from his dispute with Enyo. He starts towards the _Executor,_ barely nodding at the rest of the Jedi as he leaves. “Let’s go.”

Hux tries not to gasp when Ben places a hand on his shoulder to turn him in the direction of the ship.

The hand is gone almost as soon as it’s there.

Hux throws an awkward goodbye over his shoulder at the Jedi he and Ben are leaving behind, already making their way onto Enyo’s ship. Dar waves brightly; Jaina smirks at him; Jacen and Tanma have already turned away; Enyo spares him a brief nod. Hux diligently follows after Ben to the _Executor,_ strapping himself to his usual seat—when did it become _his usual seat?_ —while Ben does his pre-flight checks in the cockpit. As they silently lift off once more, Hux tucks into his holobook again until he feels the them jump to hyperspace.

Ben appears in the living quarters then, a rueful expression on his face. He takes a seat opposite Hux.

“Sorry, uh, sorry about Enyo, back there.” He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb, as if Enyo is actually behind him.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Hux shrugs. “She wasn’t yelling at _me.”_

“Yeah well…sorry you had to see that. She’s overly cautious about this kind of thing. We’ve built up a whole persona for Kylo Ren in the Outer Rim, as a ‘shady’ businessman. Makes it easier for us to maintain connections.”

Hux eyes him. “I’m assuming pirates and bounty hunters and other questionable persons wouldn’t want to associate with the Jedi.”

“Exactly,” Ben says, nodding. “And often the scum of the galaxy are the best source of information. So it’s…necessary.”

“Mhmm,” Hux hums. “As surprised as I was the first time, I actually…understand now.”

“Do you?” Ben is teasing, his sheepish tone gone.

“Somewhat. But I must ask: how _did_ you come up with such a ridiculous name?”

“You’ll be disappointed. I just took my name, my parents’ names, and my uncle’s name and played around with the letters until it felt right.”

“Are you trying to tell me,” Hux pauses and levels Ben with a stare. “Are you _really_ trying to tell me you _used the Force_ to come up with your alias?”

“Maybe.” Ben smirks.

Hux rolls his eyes. “Kriffing Jedi. But, surprisingly enough, as absurd as the name is…it suits you.”

Ben scoffs. “Thanks. I guess.”

They sit in comfortable silence, Hux returning to his book while Ben retrieves another juice pack from the galley and sips it. Something else has been eating away at Hux all afternoon, however, and after a few minutes he needs to ask.

“Can I ask you something…Ben?” The name still sounds strange in his mouth, and he almost prefers the alias.

“What is it?” Ben asks.

“Why did you invite me to D'Qar?”

Ben furrows his brows. “What are you talking about?”

“Your mother told me,” Hux says. “She said this trip was your idea, not hers.”

Hux had been surprised at Leia's admission. They'd been in her office, just the two of them, discussing post-election plans, when Hux commented he was surprised to receive her invitation to tour the base, but thankful nonetheless.

“Oh.” Leia looked at him weirdly. “Ben didn't tell you? This was his idea.”

It was surprising enough that Leia had taken Hux's silence as an indication to move the conversation along.

Ben stares at Hux for a long moment. When he finally looks away, he frowns.

“Consider it my apology,” he starts, his tone sullen. “Back at the gala, I...said some mean things. I thought I owed it to you to show you that I was...I–I was wrong.” Ben swallows. “You're not...not useless. You're important. To the Resistance. To Leia."

Something tells Hux he's not quite finished, but Ben says nothing else and continues avoiding Hux's stare.

“Well. Thank you.” It's awkward, the most inarticulate Hux has ever been, and he fidgets with his hands to distract from it. He needs to lighten the mood.

“I appreciate it, _Ren.”_

Ben snorts, finally looking up at him. “What?”

“Like I said, it suits you. I think I'll start calling you that from now on.” Hux smirks. “Besides, it made you laugh.”

“Hux.” Ben—no, _Ren,_ because it really _does_ suit him better—looks at him in mock-amazement. “Did you just try to crack a _joke?”_

Hux rolls his eyes, getting up from the bench and crossing over to the cabin door.

“Hey,” Ren's voice stops him before he can shut the door. “I'm sorry. And.. thank you.”

Hux swallows. “You're forgiven.”

Ren smiles then: a genuine smile, not an arrogant or entertained smirk. “Goodnight, Hux.”

“Goodnight, Ren.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: (none that i can think of but if you see something i should have put please let me know!!)
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading, for the kudos, and for all the lovely comments!! <3 and as always thank you to the wonderful [Gefionne](http://gefionne.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing!
> 
> since i'm taking a short tumblr hiatus feel free to come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/biotcnerfherder) :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO i am sorry for such a long gap between chapters!! but i bring with me more UST and politics and... rain?
> 
> as always, chapter warnings in the endnotes!

Arkanis is, as expected, experiencing a torrential downpour when they arrive.

Ren somehow cons his way into a private hangar—Hux suspects the Force and some swindling skills inherited from his father—after which the two of them set off through Scaparus Port on foot. Hux’s apartment isn’t far, and with Ren presumably shifting attention away from them, the walk is relatively quick. They part ways when Ren ducks into the neighbour’s flat to ‘take care’ of their memory, while Hux, relieved to finally be alone, goes to his own studio to make sure everything is in order (and to dry off after the rain).

After a quick review of the solitary apartment, Hux realises his kitchenette is empty and heads to the small shop down on the street to pick up a few supplies. He shelves the blue milk, filtered water, and pre-cooked nerf steak in the conservator and is just going to sort through the fresh fruit when his front door opens and someone strolls in.

Startled, Hux grabs the first item he can think of for defense against the intruder; only, when he turns, he lets out an exasperated groan instead.

“Your neighbours are taken care of,” Ren says smugly, inviting himself to sit in the sole armchair in the apartment. “You’re welcome.”

“Don’t expect me to say ‘thank you,’” Hux scowls. He sets down the butter knife quietly, hoping Ren hadn’t noticed him trying to brandish it as a weapon. Or worse, that Ren noticed that he caught Hux by surprise. Again. “This was _your_ plan, for _your_ invitation, so it’s only polite that you hold up what was promised.”

“And I did.” Ben turns his head to look at Hux, a sly grin on his face. “Is that durang fruit?”

Hux doesn’t get a chance to answer, because one of the plump, dark bulbs rises from the counter and floats into Ren’s hands.

“Yes, help yourself,” Hux mutters. He slices some durang and meiloorun for himself, arranging them neatly on a plate before going to join Ren. Hux sits on the only other chair in the flat: a bench at the end of his bed. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to Yavin 4 by now? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“The _Executor_ is still refuelling,” Ren says around a bite of the fruit. Some of its juice trickles down his chin, and he wipes it with the back of his hand. Hux holds in a grimace. “The hyperdrive needs a few hours’ rest, too, since I’ve really been pushing it over the past few days.”

Hux chews on a piece of meiloorun and raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t the others expecting you?”

Ren shrugs. “They can wait. There aren’t really any pressing issues at the temple, anyway. Besides, I was hungry. Thought you might have some food.” Ren licks the last of the juice off his fingers, and Hux watches in annoyance as one of his pieces of meiloorun launches itself off his plate and into Ren’s hand. “I was right.”

Hux eats the rest of the fruit on his plate as quickly as he can, before Ren can steal any more.

“So,” Ren muses after a few minutes, his gaze on the window and the rain outside, _“this_ is Arkanis?”

“Obviously. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the rain.”

Ren smirks at Hux before turning back to the window. “I like it. It’s rather…quaint.”

Hux snorts and follows his gaze. “You’ve barely seen any of it. But if by ‘quaint’ you mean boring and quiet, then I’d be inclined to agree.”

“You call _this_ quiet?” Ren asks, gesturing to the view of Scaparus Port. Or, at least, what they can make out of it through the rain.

“Ah, that’s right. You’re used to the likes of Yavin 4 and D’Qar.”

“And _you_ are used to urban planets like Hosnian Prime.” Ren looks at Hux condescendingly. “What _do_ you do when the Senate shifts its capital to such _dull_ places, like Arkanis? Or perhaps an agricultural world, like Nakadia?”

Hux rolls his eyes. “I’m usually far too busy to have free time when the Senate is in session—I hardly notice the lack of things to do. It’s more…the _sounds_ I’m accustomed to. I find it easier to sleep with the hum of Hosnian Prime’s traffic than with the patter of rain here.”

Ren tilts his head, observing Hux for a moment. “And when you _do_ have time to spare? What do you do then?”

“Read.” Hux stands, heads back to his kitchenette, and pours himself a glass of filtered water. “I read. Everything from history to physics to tactics.”

“But you seem to do a lot of reading regardless of where you are,” Ren observes.

“A fair assessment. You’re right,” Hux concedes. “Urban planets _do_ have other benefits that I enjoy, however.”

“Like?”

Hux takes a long sip of water. “The…drinking establishments are usually far more discreet, which is necessary for someone who works in the public eye, like me.”

Ren actually laughs for a long moment. “You mean _bars?_ Why so formal, Hux?”

“Because they’re _not,”_ Hux says, scowling, “something as seedy as some depraved cantina you’d find in the Outer Rim. The establishments I frequent have _reputation_ and _class.”_

“So, you’re a snob,” Ren says, grinning and looking utterly pleased to get such a rise out of Hux.

“I am _not._ I just have _standards._ And I have to be careful when I make public appearances. I’m a civil servant; my behaviour matters. I won’t be the subject of some tabloid when my work is what should be focused on.”

Ren eyes him for a moment, frowning. “That sounds lonely.”

Hux snorts. “I won’t take lessons in the company I keep from someone who spends practically all his time with a travelling circus.”

“‘Travelling circus?’” Ren raises an amused eyebrow, but then shrugs. “We’ve been called worse. And suit yourself; I much prefer these so-called _seedy_ cantinas you hate. They have actual _spirit.”_

Hux wrinkles his nose at Ren, retrieving his plate from the bench before pouring himself another glass of water. “I hardly think it’s appropriate for a noble Jedi to be hanging around the… _personalities_ you’d find at establishments like that.”

“It’s not like I’m going to these places as Ben Organa. I’ve made a fair share of contacts there as Kylo Ren,” he says, grinning mischievously. Ren looks around the small studio, obviously noticing its austerity and lack of decor. “I shouldn’t really be surprised that you hate _lively_ and _fun_ places, given the state of your home.”

Hux snorts. “This isn’t my home. I keep this apartment to remain eligible for office here. Arkanis was never really my home.”

“Not even when you were younger?” Ren asks, a questioning look on his face. “Before you left for the Unknown Regions?”

“When I was _taken_ ; and we didn’t go directly there. We were on Jakku for months.” Hux frowns. He hasn’t spoken about—let alone _thought_ about—Jakku in years. To give himself something else to do, he goes to the sink to wash his plate.

Ren is silent for a beat, as if sensing Hux’s hesitation about this topic. He stands and crosses over to the kitchenette, leaning across the counter from Hux, before he pushes on: “Where were you when you _were_ living on Arkanis?”

Hux shrugs. “Not far from here; much closer than the old Academy. An estate that belonged to a rich couple. Nobility. The woman of the house was governor, her husband a former moff. My mother was one of their kitchen workers. She had a small cottage to herself on the edge of the property, nothing big.”

“What became of the couple?”

Hux puts away the now-clean plate and turns to face Ren. “Arrested by the New Republic for their involvement with the Empire. All their assets seized. I believe that the estate is now a museum.”

Ren raises an eyebrow at him. “A museum of what?”

“Art,” Hux replies. “They had quite the collection. I’ve never been so impressed with another private collection, and believe me, given the amount of receptions and galas I’ve attended across the galaxy, I have seen quite a few.”

“Huh.” Ren scratches his chin. “Maybe I should pay the museum a visit.”

Hux waves a hand towards the door. “You’re more than welcome to play tourist. Don’t expect me to be your guide, however; I’m only on-world for these official visits, and I rarely left the estate as a child. I may know its history and geography better than most, but I don’t really _know_ Arkanis—in the ways that I should, at least.”

“You rarely left the estate?” Ren scratches his chin, face scrunched in confusion. “What about school?”

“I didn’t go to school. Brendol”—even now Hux says the name with a bitter taste in his mouth—“arranged for private tutoring.”

“Does that mean…that night you left for Jakku was… _that_ was your first time off-world?” Ren asks, incredulous.

Hux supposes for someone like Ren, whose mother was in government and whose father is still a widely-travelled pilot, it’s unthinkable for a child of four years to never have ventured off-world.

“Yes. Although it was more terrifying than exciting for me. My mother had just been killed, and I taken away with her murderer and my good-for-nothing father.”

Ren fidgets, obviously uncomfortable. “I, uh, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to remind you of…that. It’s easy to forget that some people didn’t have as…comfortable a childhood as I did.”

“It’s…” Hux hesitates. He’s grown a thick skin over the events of that night, and because he never talks about it he can be…quite nonchalant about it. Desensitised, some would say. He has to be, really, or he’d get lost in thinking about all the bad; Ren must not see it the same way. “It’s all right, Ren. I don’t mean to speak so casually about it. Not every child had their world turned upside-down like I did.”

“What?” Ren looks at him with a small, confused smile and a furrow between his brows.

“It’s an expression. Probably from one of the Core worlds, seeing as I picked it up from some of the older Imperials.” Hux sticks his thumb up in demonstration, before turning his hand so his thumb faces down instead. “Your world turns upside down when your life changes completely rather suddenly.”

“Huh. That’s a…funny expression.” Ren considers it for a moment. “Wouldn’t you consider that…” He pauses, reaches over to Hux’s still-outstretched hand, and, angling it upwards again, pulls back his hand. “That your sudden departure from the First Order would also be your world turning upside down?”

Hux has to laugh at that. It’s short and sharp and seems to catch Ren by surprise.

“Yes, I suppose you could say that.” He sets his hand down onto the counter. “Though maybe that could be considered turning to right-side up.”

Ren hums. “Perhaps you were always meant to be on the side of the Republic. If you hadn’t been taken that night, you would’ve become a citizen of the New Republic when the Empire lost the siege. Maybe, you abandoning the First Order was you righting yourself.”

That’s…an interesting take on it; Hux has never thought of it that way. From anyone else, it might sound silly, but coming from Ren, a Jedi with the ability to control some mystical power far beyond Hux’s comprehension, it sounds almost like a fortune, or some old prophecy.

It makes Hux feel fairly uneasy.

As he mulls over the thought, Hux realises, belatedly, he’s been silent for too long, and Ren is staring at him with an amused smile on his face.

“Don’t overthink it, Hux. It’s just a random thought based on an old Imperial expression.”

Hux swallows. “Right.”

Ren stares at him for another few minutes. Hux holds his gaze, as if challenging him to say something else.

“Right,” Ren laughs. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Hux asks, while at the same time following Ren to the apartment door.

“It’s my first time on Arkanis, and I’d like to see Scaparus Port. And it would be nice to have some company?” Ren grins slyly at him.

Hux rolls his eyes. “I told you, I’m no tour guide.”

“But you’re a politician, and you should be seen among your constituents.” Ren raises a challenging eyebrow at him, already halfway out the door. “Yes?”

Hux narrows his eyes, considering it for a moment; he’s not sure what Ren’s playing at, but Hux has never been one to back down from a challenge.

“You’ll make sure we’re not recognised?” Hux asks, despite the fact he’s already heading to his wardrobe to fetch his rain poncho. He’ll look silly, but Hux would rather be dry than look fashionable.

“I’ll make sure _I’m_ not recognised,” Ren says as he watches Hux don the poncho. He snickers but says nothing. “I’ll make sure your constituents can recognise you but leave us alone.”

“Fair enough.” Hux looks Ren up and down, noticing he’s still fairly damp from their earlier walk. “Your clothes are obviously not recognisable as a Jedi’s, but aren’t you concerned about being rained on some more?”

Ren is halfway out the door when he throws an “I’ll be fine” over his shoulder.

Frustratingly, he’s right. When they step out into the street below, the rain has somehow petered out to a light drizzle, either by miracle or some kind of joke. Hux sighs and follows Ren down the road. At least, he rationalises, every other Arkanisian will also be in some sort of raincoat and look as comical as him; he’ll fit right in.

“Where to from here?” Ren asks, stopping on the corner and waiting for Hux to catch up.

“Hold on a minute.” Hux glances around, squinting at a few street signs and trying to remember the fastest way to the markets.

“Hux, do you not know your way around town?”

“I’m just getting my bearings,” Hux snaps. “I told you I’m no tour guide.”

Ren looks at him, dumbfounded. “How do you find your way around Scaparus Port, then?”

Hux frowns. “I’m usually here with Korr Sella. She knows the streets very well.” He finally decides on a route that will take them through the markets to the bay and starts walking. “Should be this way, I think.”

“Of all the things you would be bad at,” Ren says as he follows, “I did _not_ expect it to be directions.”

“I have a very good sense of direction, thank you _very_ much,” Hux grits out. “I just need some time to remember where things are. I’m hardly here, and I don’t go out into town on my own when I am.”

They walk in silence until they reach the marketplace square. Then, Ren eagerly starts asking Hux all sorts of questions about trade; Hux dutifully answers, taking the chance to show off a little. Numbers, statistics, and facts about Arkanis are something he knows, even if he’s not too familiar with getting around. Shopkeepers and pedestrians recognise Hux, but no one stops him to offer him anything other than a quick, polite greeting. He does his best to smile at all of them, grateful for Ren’s ability; Hux is not quite in the mood to talk to anyone today. He’s technically on holiday, at least until Korrie arrives tomorrow night.

Ren ends up purchasing a large bundle of nerf-hide leather—for Tanma, he claims, because she’ll use it to make new utility belts, blaster holsters, and lightsaber grips for the _“travelling circus”_ —and a diplopod trinket made from seaglass for Jaina. After he somehow negotiates for the leather to be delivered straight to his hangar, Hux leads them to the bay, to a viewing balcony above the docks.

“The sea is calm, today,” Hux observes. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of the saltwater, and gestures to the overcast skies and fog along the horizon. “You won’t get a better view than this, however. I think there are only about six clear days in a year.”

“It’s still nice.” Ren, too, takes in a deep breath before leaning on the railing in front of them. He takes a moment to look out at the water before studying the docks and the bay. “Why do a lot of these buildings look so…new?”

“Most of them are,” Hux says matter-of-factly. “You underestimate just how much damage Arkanis sustained during the siege.”

Ren whistles, taking in all of the new constructions that line the bay. _“That_ much?”

“Scaparus Port was not even the worst of it. Teeda City was practically rebuilt from the ground up.” Hux glances at Ren. “The New Republic’s army was not exactly kind to staunchly Imperial worlds, as Arkanis once was.”

“Yet you’re here,” Ren states. He turns to face Hux. “Serving the New Republic.”

Hux shrugs. “Like I said, I’m from here but I never quite considered Arkanis my home. And, ironically, it’s the severity of the destruction that allowed me to come back with no questions asked. Enough records were destroyed that no one batted an eye when I showed up with _nothing_ to request my identicards, ten years later.” Hux looks away again, scanning the horizon. When he finds the building he’s looking for, he points to it. “That town hall? I inaugurated it. First year in office.”

Ren hums thoughtfully. “How many other buildings have you inaugurated? That we can see, at least.”

“The clocktower. That library. The public theatre next to it.” He goes on, pointing to each one as he names them. “I consulted on the design of the docks, too.”

Nodding to himself as he finishes his list, Hux glances back at Ren. Ren is still looking at him, but with something like an… _impressed_ look in his eye?

“For someone who says this planet isn’t their home, you sure do a _lot_ for it.” Ren nods thoughtfully, turning to look out over the bay again. “That’s admirable.”

Unsure if _Ren_ is actually giving him a compliment, Hux pushes on: “It’s not, really. It’s my job; I’m a senator in the Galactic Senate. It is my _duty_ to provide not only for my planet, but for all others, too. You’ll find I don’t do anything halfway. I put the utmost effort into _everything_ that I do.”

“That’s why you’re too busy to have a life, then?”

Hux rolls his eyes, though he hears the obvious teasing in Ren’s tone. He gestures to the town around them, the bay below. “This _is_ my life, Ren. I like what I do. I’m happy to do it.”

“Are you?” Ren asks, suddenly serious.

Hux can only scoff. He can’t think of anything he could possibly say to respond.

Ren straightens up off the railing, turning to him with a sheepish grin. “Don’t answer that. I’m starving; let’s get something to eat, and then I’ll be out of your hair. The _Executor_ should done refuelling by now.”

“All right,” Hux agrees, half-excited to _finally_ be alone and half-dreading being left to wait for Korrie’s arrival alone.

He remembers Korrie mentioning her favourite restaurant in Scaparus Port, a small family-run thing, and if he’s recalling correctly it’s not far from the spaceport. He’s never been there himself—he always eats in his flat when he isn’t at some official event—but it’s worth trying. They walk in silence back through town, Hux trying his best to lead them simply from his memory of Korrie’s descriptions, and he can’t quite keep the smug smile off his face when he finds the place.

“What is it?” Ren asks, noticing Hux’s self-satisfaction when they sit down at a table.

“I’m not as bad with directions as you seem to think I am,” he brags. The accomplishment isn’t a big one, but it’s still nice to prove Ren wrong. Not as nice as it used to be, but Hux can still enjoy it.

Ren is unaffected, his attention already on the flimsiplast menu on their table. “That was joke, I hardly meant it. Now help me decide what to eat.”

“Why?”

“I like eating food that’s native to the planet,” Ren says, fully seriously. He eyes Hux. “So what should I eat?”

Hux sighs and looks down at the menu. “As you probably guessed from the amount of nerf-hide leather you saw at the markets, nerfs are our main source of food. Avoid the fish—even though we have plenty of ocean, most of the creatures in it are inedible. The fish on the menu is probably imported.”

“See?” Ren smiles. “I would not have known that if you didn’t mention that. So, stick to the nerf.” He looks down and considers the menu again. “The nerf tongue soup with rice noodles sounds good.”

Hux makes a face at the thought of nerf tongue. “That’s certainly…adventurous. I’ll just have…the noodle soup with flank steak instead.”

“I like the weirder things. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve tried.”

“I don’t think I want to imagine, thank you.”

Ren laughs. “What about to drink? Some local ale?”

Hux shakes his head. “Doesn’t exist. Our farms are far too wet for any grain other than rice to grow. Hence the noodles.” He peels his eyes off the menu, refocusing on Ren. “Wait, can you even drink alcohol?”

“Of course.” Ren actually looks offended. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, the whole _Jedi_ thing?” Hux mouths the word Jedi silently, lest anyone overhear. Though he trusts Ren’s abilities, he refuses to take that risk in case Ren is distracted. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re intent on having something to drink, I won’t stop you. Arkanisian rice wine isn’t half bad.”

“Then I’ll have that.” Ren calls over a waitress and orders for them both before Hux can even think about reconsidering his dinner choice. The food comes out fairly quickly, and Ren doesn’t even wait to blow on the steaming soup before tucking in.

“You were right about the nerf meat,” Ren remarks after he spends a full minute practically inhaling his food. “It tastes fresh. This is delicious.”

Before Hux can gloat over being, as usual, right, he stops himself. The compliments, the taking back of insults, the admitting Hux is right—where was the Ren who openly traded barbs with him? When had they wordlessly agreed to cease antagonising each other and just...be nice?

“Why are you being so amicable, Ren?”

Ren looks at him over the bowl while slurping up another noodle. “What?”

Hux finishes chewing his own spoonful of soup and noodles before answering, making a show of swallowing and _not_ talking with his mouth full. “I’ve known you for a long time. Years of unkind words, avoiding each other, _ratting me out_ to your mother, and suddenly…this?” Hux gestures between the two of them.

“What?” Ren repeats, his attention fully on Hux now. He sets down his spoon and picks up a napkin to wipe his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Suddenly you’re being _nice_ to me, not to mention spending more time with me. Why?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Ren counters, raising an eyebrow.

_“I’m_ not the one who invited me on a trip _offplanet,”_ Hux says, hesitant to say the name D’Qar.

“All right,” Ren concedes. He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, considering the question. “Do you remember what I told you in your office? The day before the gala?”

“You said we should work together more often because we’d been quite productive, and that the general would probably appreciate it.” Hux wrinkles his nose. “Don’t tell me you’re playing nice because of your _mother._ You’ve had almost twenty years to do so.”

Ren chuckles. “I was a bit busy with training to be involved in my mother’s _business_ when I was younger. Maybe now that I’m actively participating in the family business, I’m finally seeing the merit in playing nice.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “You’re almost twenty nine, Ren. Took you long enough.”

“Took _you_ long enough, too.”

“Me?” Hux asks, slightly affronted.

“Yes. You finally stopped trying to outdo me in front of Leia.” Ren pauses for a sip of his wine, but holds up a finger to indicate he’s not done talking. Hux stays silent, lips pursed, and waits. “Whatever it is, I can’t say I’m not enjoying this…truce.”

Hux has to scoff fondly at Ren’s melodramatic description. “Shall we call it an official truce, then?” Hux asks jokingly.

Ren nods, an amused smile on his lips. “Truce.”

Half-sarcastically, Hux reaches out his right hand, letting it hover just above the table; it _is,_ after all, how Hux was always taught to seal a deal. Ren eyes it for a moment, his brows furrowed in confusion, before reaching out with his left hand and grasping Hux’s.

Ren doesn’t let go.

“Ren?”

“What?”

“Why are you holding my hand?”

The hand is gone as soon as Hux says the words. “I thought that’s what you were trying to do?” Ren shrugs innocently. “Some Arkanisian gesture?”

Hux’s own laughter takes him by surprise: it bubbles up from his chest, and while, at first, it comes out like a cough—making Ren look both startled and concerned—it builds until his shoulders are shaking and he has to cover his mouth with a hand to quiet the sound. He hazards a glance at Ren, who appears to be _blushing_ and embarrassed, which only makes him laugh more.

“Have you never made a _deal_ with someone before, Ren?” he asks when his laughter finally subsides. “Didn’t you ever tag along with your father anywhere?”

“Contrary to what you might think,” Ren says defensively, “Han was actually pretty responsible. He never took me anywhere while he was _working.”_

Hux looks upwards, releasing a breath and the rest of his mirth with it. “You shake hands when you make a deal, laserbrain.”

“Well, I’m _sorry_ if I’ve only ever seen people shaking hands in _greeting,”_ Ren huffs, sulking. “And didn’t we _just_ say no more mocking?”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry.” Hux offers him a sympathetic smile, the kind that is plastered on his face at official Senate functions. He hopes it doesn’t look fake; for once, he means it.

Ren grins suddenly, as if all the embarrassment and sulking was an act. “So you _are_ capable of apologies. And of laughter.” Ren tilts his head, considering Hux. “You should laugh more often.”

If Ren notices the flush of Hux’s cheeks, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns back to his soup, slurping up the rest of his noodles loudly and chewing thoughtfully on the nerf tongue.

Hux tucks back into his own dinner, blaming his warm cheeks on the wine.

* * *

“Welcome back, Senator,” Esmelle greets, smiling warmly. “And Korrie.”

She gestures at K-8TE, the droid waddling along behind the togruta, and the two of them each take one of Hux’s and Korrie’s bags. Republic City spaceport is humming with activity, but Hux’s aides pay it no mind; they chat eagerly and animatedly with each other, Korrie telling Esmelle all about this year’s trip to Arkanis. In Hux’s opinion, Korrie puts far too much emphasis on the farm tours and grand opening of the restored public library in Teeda City, making the trip seem more exciting than it actually was. Kaitee, fortunately, remains silent next to Hux, for which he’s grateful. The days of meetings and negotiations have been tiring and entirely too long, but successful—they were able to cut their trip short by a day and return to Hosnian Prime early.

“Minister Leonis’ office has already sent over the contract, Senator,” Esmelle informs him when they pile into the speeder and set off into traffic. “Signed by the entire cabinet. The next five-year plan just needs your signature before being put into action.” She smiles at him again. “Good work. You must be exhausted.”

“Bone-numbingly tired, Esmelle,” Hux sighs, leaning his head against the speeder’s tinted transparisteel viewport. “Since we’re here a day early I’m going to sleep in tomorrow, take only a half-day at the office.”

“You have certainly earned it, Master Hux,” Kaitee chimes in.

“Yes, well,” Esmelle says, voice changing tone. “Before you do, you need to see what popped up today, and I need to know what we’re going to do about it. Kaitee, please give the senator my datapad and send the article to Korrie’s datapad as well.”

Hux takes the datapad from the protocol droid, eyeing both Kaitee and Esmelle with a confused look.

Korrie huffs in frustration, already reading something on her datapad. “Esmelle why are you still reading these tabloids? They’re all junk!”

“This is important,” Esmelle chides. She removes a hand from the steering wheel and swipes across Korrie’s datapad. “What are we going to do about _this?”_

Curious, Hux skims over the tabloid article and drops his jaw in surprise.

Korrie has the same reaction. _“‘Senator Hux’s getaway with secret boyfriend?’”_

With a scowl on his face, Hux settles in to read the first paragraph: _Spotted: Senator Hux, on his recent trip to Arkanis, reportedly spent his three vacation days in his Scaparus Port home with an unknown man, whom he was also seen leaving his apartment with on Hosnian Prime enroute to Arkanis. The pair were spotted out and about in the seaside town, sightseeing and shopping, and later seen holding hands in a local restaurant. The mystery man is yet to be identified: reports vary, so we have reached out to Senator Hux’s office for comment, though the senator is notoriously tight-lipped about his private life. Our biggest question: did the secretive senator enjoy his romantic getaway in Scaparus Port?_

“What the kriff _is_ this?”

“Language, Master Hux!” Kaitee scolds him.

Hux glares at the droid and turns back to Esmelle. “Is this from _Star Chronicle?”_

Esmelle nods once.

“It’s always karking _Star Chronicle,”_ Hux grumbles. He shoots Kaitee a look before the droid can protest his language again. “We’ll go with our usual response. Shut it down, demand a rescind of the article. Add the comment that it distracts from attention on the campaign and t—”

“No,” Korrie interrupts, her eyes still scanning the article on her datapad.

Hux does a double-take. “What?”

“No,” Korrie repeats, more forcefully. She’s got a calculating look in her eye, one Hux has come to fear over the years. She’ll make an excellent senator. “No, I think we can use this.”

“How? It’s a lie, Korrie.”

Korrie looks Hux straight in the eye and raises an eyebrow. “So you’re going to deny that Ben Organa personally flew you from Hosnian Prime to wherever the Resistance base is, and also to Arkanis afterwards?”

“Not to you, but I certainly can’t tell that to anyone outside this vehicle.” She doesn’t mention the part in the article about them _holding hands,_ so Hux elects to ignore it too.

“Of course not. But we can use this to our advantage, Senator.” Korrie looks back at the datapad, circles something in the article and shows it to Hux. “They make some good points here. You _know_ there are many older senators on the fence about which candidate to support, and that they think you’re too young and too immature to be chancellor. Which”—she sticks up a hand to silence Hux’s protest— _“I_ think is not true, but I am not these senators. Having a steady long-term partner, like this article suggests, could change their opinion of you, and maybe they will see you as one of them instead of the young, eligible bachelor that Cuup always likes to frame you as.”

“I hate to admit it,” Esmelle sighs. “She makes a good point.”

Hux purses his lips. “It’s fabricating a story, an entire part of my life. I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to,” Korrie says dismissively. “This is just publicity. People hear what they want to hear.”

It’s moments like these in which Hux realises Korrie plays the game of politics much better than he ever could.

“Look,” Korrie continues. “We say part of our usual response: that this is a violation of your privacy and we are upset that they would try to distract from your _vitally important_ campaign; that the news should be focusing on our campaign because it’s actually of importance to the galaxy. _But_ we also say that you and your _partner_ value your privacy and that neither of you wanted to distract from the real news, the issues that actually affect the average citizen. It puts you in a good light and embarrasses _Star Chronicle,_ don’t you think?”

Hux frowns. “And if the public find out it’s a lie?”

“Unless you or any of us say anything, no one will know.” Korrie glances over her shoulder at Hux. “Other Resistance members could think it’s true; they don’t know what you did after you left the base. And I’m _sure_ Ben won’t notice the news or say anything. Plus, if he was being responsible, no one will recognise it was _him_ you were spotted here and in Scaparus with.”

“You might not like it, Senator,” Esmelle chimes in, “but I think Korrie’s right. This could be very good PR.”

If it were anyone other than himself, Hux would be inclined to agree. He himself came up with a few similar publicity schemes for Leia and some of her colleagues back in the day. But about himself? He already hides his true origins from the public, a lie by omission; he doesn’t want to add another spindle into the web in which he’s already caught.

“Do you trust me?” Korrie asks.

Hux’s frown deepens, and his brows furrow. He _does._ He trusts Korrie and Esmelle (and, by extension, Kaitee) as much as he trusts Leia.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Korrie smiles proudly. “Then trust me on this, too.”

* * *

Korrie publishes her statement, and, as loath as Hux is to admit it, she’s right.

No one questions it. Esmelle tells Hux on that first day of the statement’s release that the holonet is in total agreement with what Korrie had drafted up, as predicted: the holonet users who bother to comment on the whole affair criticise the tabloids for trying to distract from an important campaign, telling _Star Chronicle_ to ‘stick to holovid stars’ and to ‘stop trying to frame politicians as eligible bachelors.’ And, to Korrie’s smug satisfaction, a few new senatorial offices contact Hux with pledges to vote for him. The predictive polls tip ever-so-slightly more in his favour.

But after that, no one brings it up at all in the week that follows: the week leading up to the election. How quickly, Hux wonders at first, the public can eat something up and in the next breath forget about it. Then it slips from his own memory, his attention focused solely on the last few debates with his fellow candidates.

Until one morning, Hux remembers.

He’s not sure if it’s the first dream of this kind he’s had—if there were others, he never remembers them—but _this_ one startles him awake, his eyes opening so that his ceiling replaces the view of Ren’s face hovering above him. Already most of the dream is slipping away from him, but what’s left is enough: Ren, finding out about the press release and confronting him about it. Somehow the two of them ending up right here, in Hux’s bed, tangled up in each other. Ren’s face twisted in pleasure, moaning Hux’s name, his big, stupid mouth making the noise _look_ as obscene as it sounds. Ren’s ridiculously large hands roaming everywhere, over Hux’s body, over his—

Hux lets out a half-frustrated, half-aroused groan. He rubs his hands over his face and exhales, failing to will his erection away. It’s far too early on too important a day to have to deal with _this._

After a few moments of glaring at the ceiling, Hux sighs and resolves to deal with his sudden libido in the shower. It’s been awhile since he’s even had the time to think about masturbating, let alone actually doing so, and he _is_ up early; why can’t he indulge his baser urges from time-to-time?

Turning on the hot water in the refresher, Hux strips off his sleep pants and daintily steps into the shower, easing himself under the spray. He wraps a hand around his cock, sighing with even just the slightest pressure, and gently tugs to coax it into filling completely. Given how aroused he already feels and how quickly his cock stands at full attention, Hux tries to recall the last time he actually took care of himself; he can’t even remember if it was months or weeks ago.

The last time he was with someone was definitely _years_ ago, before Hux became too paranoid of being in the public eye to have any affairs—he already came with hidden baggage; why add more and invite scrutiny upon himself, risking his other secrets?

Hux sets aside the thought for now, concentrating on his pleasure. Reaching his free hand down, he lightly rubs his palm over his balls, shuddering at the contact. He continues to massage them gently while his left hand builds up a steady rhythm on his cock, and before long his hips start to stutter of their own accord, fucking into his own hand in search of more friction. Before he can stop himself, Hux imagines the hand he’s thrusting into is not his own, but has a palm almost twice the size of his, fingers temptingly _and dangerously_ long—Ren’s hand, which had practically swallowed Hux’s entire forearm when Ren had wrapped it around his arm at the gala. Hux knows how it feels on his bare skin now; he remembers the warmth, the callouses, but also the gentleness with which Ren held his hand.

He groans shamelessly at the mental image.

Because he’s indulging himself, Hux decides to go all the way and moves his right hand behind him, trailing his fingers across his perineum and between his asscheeks before swirling them around the tight ring of muscle there. Hux circles outside his hole, wishing his finger was thicker and wider; instead, he imagines the sensation to be something else, _someone_ else, teasing his sensitive ass before enter—

He doesn’t even get to finish the thought before he comes, moaning alone in his refresher like some actor in the holovids Hux used to watch when he was younger and far more brazen.

Once all the evidence has washed down the drain and he’s moved on to actually washing his body, Hux feels embarrassed at the thought of what he’s done; if being around Ren weren’t already difficult enough, how could he possibly face the man knowing he’d been _fantasising_ about him? And not only in his dreams, but chasing his pleasure, too? Would Ren be able to tell, when they next meet, through some sign in the Force?

Hux, however, has no time to worry about that now—not when he has work to do, on the eve of the elections.

He meticulously goes through the rest of his shower, taking extra long to scrub at his skin since he’s still running early, thanks to his unexpected awakening. Hux styles his hair away from his face in the mirror, adding enough pomade so that no strand would dare come loose, and carefully shaves the two-day stubble on his cheeks.

Preparing himself for the final debate between the candidates is something akin to getting ready for battle, or so Hux feels. He supposes it _is_ a sort of battle, a battle of words. It’s not the one he was born to fight; his father, and Rae, at that, would never have allowed him to be something other than military. Politicians were a laughing stock to them. He does have to admit, there _are_ days when he feels constricted by the system, when he grows frustrated with the constant stalemates in the Senate, but tomorrow he _will_ win the election, and he _will_ be chancellor. He’ll have gotten there fairly, and he’ll have more power to do what’s right for the galaxy.

Hux’s heart thunders in anticipation.

Heading to his closet, he selects an outfit he thinks fit for the occasion: tailored white pants, a formal burgundy shirt with matching cloak, his shiniest short black boots. No frills, no extra luxuries today, which might set him at odds with the other candidates, but that’s the point, isn’t it? The final public debate, after which they’ll have a final, private audience with Chancellor Severi. Hux needs to make sure he’s remembered, but also not stand too much apart. Simple, but colourful and eye-catching.

His earlier indulgence in the shower is all but forgotten by the time he leaves for the Senatorial Complex.

* * *

“Congratulations, Senator,” Senator Lanever Villecham says, nodding at Hux. “Fine job, today.”

Hux extends him a courteous nod as well. “And to you. It should be a close race, tomorrow.”

Though really, it won’t: Hux has been steadily ahead in the polls for weeks now. Senator Villecham of Tarsunt follows him at a comfortable distance (for Hux, at least), and the remaining three candidates trail Villecham in almost geographical order: Kiara Holdan of Kuat, Pi Lebo of Vardos, and lastly Mortan of Comra.

“Senator Hux is just being polite,” Pi Lebo herself states as she sweeps into Chancellor Severi’s personal conference room. Her four red eyes, normal for an aqualish, glisten with amusement. “I, for one, think we already know what will happen.”

Before Hux can get a word in, Holdan interrupts him: “This is politics, Senator Lebo. Anything can happen overnight.” She sits at the conference table, heaving a sigh as if sitting down is a huge relief. In her heavy skirts and with her blue hair piled high on her head, Hux supposes it is. “Personally, I think any of us would make a fine chancellor,” she adds with a too-sweet smile on her face.

“I would be inclined to agree,” Chancellor Severi themself enters the room, robes billowing about their tall frame. Senator Mortan follows closely behind them. “And that is not only because as incumbent chancellor I must remain impartial.” Severi rounds the conference table, their gait regal and steps light.

The first time Hux saw the then-Senator Severi was when he’d first arrived on Chandrila as a teen. He could only describe the moh, the genderless and only sentient species of the planet Mohni, as vaguely resembling a kaminoan, with a more human-looking face, a protruding forehead, and smaller, less-intimidating eyes. Severi is just as intimidating, yet majestic, now, as much as they were when Hux was first introduced to them years ago.

“Please, sit,” Severi says softly as they gesture at the chairs around the table. They take a seat at the head, the place of power.

Hux would be lying if he said he wasn’t eyeing the spot with hunger. At least, in a room full of five other senators, he’s not the only one lusting after the seat of power.

“First and foremost, my colleagues,” Severi starts, “congratulations on a final debate well done. You all spoke well. In retirement I’ll be following Senate proceedings very closely from my summer home. It will be most interesting to see which…more controversial policies may be passed.”

Hux smiles politely. “You are too kind, Chancellor. I think you’ve earned a retirement free from worrying about the Senate.”

Holdan clears her throat. “And I’ve heard the ocean on Mohni is quite a sight. It’d be such a shame to have to see our faces on H-PAN when you have a perfectly beautiful view right in front of you.”

Four of the senators chuckle, as does Severi. Holdan was always good at defusing the tension in a room, an ability Hux came to appreciate in the many trade negotiations they’ve sat through together. Now, though, on the eve of the elections, Hux especially welcomes the easy air she brings—especially with a sour Mortan in the room, looking ready to pounce at any moment.

The senator, a staunch Centrist before the dismantlement of the parties, has always held a grudge against any former Populist, Villecham included. Though Hux never declared an alignment to a particular party, he was (and still is) close with Leia, one of the most vocal Populists, back in the day, and that was enough to displease Mortan; Hux is half sure the old Comran senator nominated himself for chancellor out of spite, seeing as his announcement came two days after Hux’s.

“Before we continue, I would also like to laud all of your well-run campaigns.” Severi applauds softly, the sound sticky and strange given the wet, slimy texture of the moh’s three-fingered hands. The rest of the senators politely clap in support. “You have all shown excellent initiative, integrity, and honesty, and I am happy to entrust any of you with the power this office holds.”

Mortan snorts.

“Is there a problem, Senator?” Lebo, infamous for her quick tongue and short temper, is first to respond.

“Yes,” Mortan responds, looking down his nose at the aqualish. “Chancellor Severi has some fancy words but I’m inclined to disagree.”

“With what do you disagree, Senator?” Villecham asks innocently, ever the pacifist.

Mortan glances around the conference table. “We’re politicians; do you think any of us are completely honest?” He nods at Hux. “Even you, Senator Hux, the so-called _silver-tongued senator._ Your record is far too innocent, despite your involvement with a known liar. How can I call you trustworthy, when you attempt to dodge every single personal question from anyone?” Mortan narrows his eyes. “Do you really have a secret partner, or was that just a publicity stunt?”

“Please, Mortan,” Holdan retorts with a roll of her eyes. “Who cares? What he said was right; we should be focused on the campaign and on our work, not on our personal lives. We all have the right to privacy.”

Lebo cocks her head. “This coming from the senator whose wedding was a week-long event on Kuat. The entire Core could hear your party. I think I could hear it all the way on Vardos.”

“That was for my personal enjoyment, thank _you.”_

Hux exchanges a glance with Villecham to his left. The tarsunt shrugs slightly, as if claiming innocence and an unwillingness to be involved in this particular part of the conversation.

“That will be enough, thank you,” Chancellor Severi thankfully interrupts. “Senator Holdan is correct. Above all we need not bring up personal vendettas when we are here to discuss matters of governance. Please refrain from conduct unbecoming of a civil servant before I remove you from the room, Senator Mortan.”

The old senator almost visibly sags, shrinking into himself like a scolded child.

“Now, I would like to go through tomorrow’s proceedings one more time.” Severi speaks for a long time, bringing up things all the senators already know: they follow up with what’s to happen _after_ the elections, the process of transferring power, and after half an hour the five candidates are visibly itching to be released. “Please remember that, for whatever reason, should you need to rescind your candidacy, you have until the Senate session begins tomorrow morning to do so. I wish you all a goodnight, and good luck.” The old chancellor nods at them all, dismissing them.

The five senators rise from their seats, bowing politely at Chancellor Severi before making their way to the door. Hux is just tucking his chair back under the conference table when Severi holds up a hand to signal at him to stop.

“Please stay a moment, Senator Hux,” they say.

Hux swallows, ignoring the glances the other candidates give him as they continue to leave. Mortan huffs an ugly sound, while Lebo tuts at Mortan in response. Hux ignores them all, and instead circles the table to settle in the seat closest to the chancellor.

“How may I help you, Chancellor?” Hux asks when the door has shut behind the last of the departing senators.

Severi eyes him for a moment, something akin to a frown on their deeply expressive face.

“Chancellor?”

“Armitage,” the chancellor breaks out of their reverie and smiles sadly at Hux. “Let me preface this by saying you are an extremely accomplished senator. You remind me a great deal of someone I looked up to before I left Mohni to join the Senate. And I am sure you, too, looked up to her. Leia was always inspiring. And she taught you well.”

Hux smiles warmly at the praise, not only for him but for the general. Until he realises Severi is speaking about her in the past tense. Then, his expression falls and his brows furrow.

“Leia is still a remarkable woman, but there are things she does that we, bound by certain laws, cannot follow. There are reasons Mon set forth certain policies for us, Armitage.”

Hux frowns.

The corners of Severi’s lipless mouth turn down once more, and they sigh. “I’ll give you one chance not to lie to me, Armitage. That much I owe not only you, but to Leia.”

Severi produces a datapad from somewhere in their voluminous robes and hands it to Hux sombrely. He accepts it, his chest tightening in anxiety, and when he sees what’s written on the datapad, Hux swears his heart stops beating.

“Do you deny this transaction, Armitage?”

Hux is silent for a long moment, and when he finds his voice again, he clears his throat. “No. I sent these funds to the Resistance. I don’t deny it.”

“I’m glad,” Severi sighs in what sounds like relief. “This way, I don’t have to launch an investigation. I can keep what was said between us here confidential.” They eye Hux with a solemn look. “That is, if you agree to what I need to ask you to do now.”

“I know,” Hux whispers. “I’ll draft up my statement of resignation as soon as I leave your office.”

Severi takes the datapad back from Hux and reaches out a soft, slimy hand to place on his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, Armitage, I think you would have made an excellent chancellor. You have vision, you have the brains, you have the guts to see things through. More than that, you would be a beacon of hope to so many. The orphan from the Outer Rim, reaching the highest point of office?” Severi smiles. “It would have shown the power of the New Republic. A sort of, ‘look what we can do.’”

“Does…does anyone else know?”

“No,” Severi shakes their head, the gesture odd with a neck so long. “This was an anonymous tip, to my personal datapad. In your statement cite personal reasons, and no one will know. As I said, I owe you that much.”

Hux looks at them, an imploring look in his eyes. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to accomplish, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try. “Then, why?”

“Why don’t I keep this between us? Why am I asking you to resign?” Severi hums. “Because who am I, if on my last day in office I let someone who has broken a law take my place? What, then, would be my legacy?” Severi stands, indicating that the meeting is over. “I’m sorry it had to end this way, Armitage. But you know that as an elected official you cannot be funding militant groups. And yet you did so anyway. I’ll delete the evidence and no one besides you and I will know, but I cannot allow you to continue to work in this Senate.”

“I understand,” Hux says. But he doesn’t.

How could this happen, exactly the day before what was supposed to be the highlight of his career? Why is he now going home to write his resignation announcement, instead of preparing for a victory? Hux rationalises it couldn’t have been one of his opponents, or a political enemy: they would have wanted to embarrass him publicly and would have done so at the debates or the meeting. Who, then, retrieved this data but only passed it on to Chancellor Severi secretly, and had they known Severi would handle it privately?

It doesn’t make sense.

“I’m sorry, Armitage.”

“I’m sorry, too, Chancellor.”

Hux leaves the conference room then, but instead of mentally drafting up his statement like he knows he should, his mind catches on a single thought: the only way this whole situation can be made sense of.

The Resistance has a mole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings (spoilers!): mention of minor character death, not great coping mechanisms to past events, discussion of war and its casualties, cultural differences, tabloids and publicity stunts, masturbation
> 
> ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD TO MY BETA [GEFIONNE](http://gefionne.tumblr.com/)!!!  
> if you haven't seen it yet, i commissioned the incredible alexa ([pembroke](http://pembroke.tumblr.com/) on tumblr) for [this beautiful art](http://bioticnerfherder.tumblr.com/post/163696737541) of the boys in their ~fashionable~ gala outfits back in chapter 4!  
> and lastly, because i'm still on tumblr hiatus come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/biotcnerfherder)!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for such a long gap between chapters! as always, chapter warnings in the end notes!

Ben cuts his speeder through the streets, cursing Republic City traffic in about three languages as he swerves to avoid hitting a transport. The endless streams of speeders and vehicles make Ben long for the quiet of Yavin 4 once more: it seems to be perpetually rush hour on Hosnian Prime in spite of the dark sky that tells him the sun set hours ago.

His commlink chimes and he fishes it out of his pocket, answering it without even checking who’s calling, before he sets it down on the passenger seat.

“Ben,” his mother says without preamble. “Where are you?”

“Republic City, currently avoiding a traffic incident.”

Leia hums. “Enyo said she wasn’t sure where you were heading when you left Yavin 4. Why are you there?”

Ben shrugs before he realises his comm is set to voice only. “Supply run. Long overdue.”

No need to tell her it was _actually_ a hunch. A calling, most likely from the Force, telling him to be on Hosnian Prime tonight.

“At least you _are_ there. Did you hear the news?”

“Of course.”

In addition to the initial calling he’d felt, Ben had had a bad feeling throughout his entire flight here. It wasn’t until he dropped out of hyperspace, ready to start his landing approach, that his datapad reconnected to the holonet and chimed with an alert of breaking news: Senator Hux had announced his resignation and withdrawal from the elections.

“Get in contact with Hux,” Leia instructs him. “I’m worried.”

Ben swears under his breath as he swerves around a speeder bike. “Did you hear from him?”

“He sent me a message before he released the statement. All it said was that Severi found out about him funding us, and that he’s sorry.” Leia pauses, and Ben can just make out a sigh over the comm. “He’s not answering my calls. The Senate is his _life,_ Ben, and I’m worried about him.”

Ben nods before he yet again remembers Leia can’t see him. “I’m almost at his apartment. I’ll find out what happened and let you know.”

“Thank you. And…make sure he’s okay, too?”

“I will,” Ben agrees.

With a farewell, Leia shuts off the call.

Ben frowns to himself as he rounds the final turn onto Hux’s street. Though he's been getting to know Hux better— _much_ more than he ever anticipated, not that he's complaining—in the past few months, no one knows Hux better than Leia. If she's _this_ worried about her former aide-slash-apprentice... Ben gulps. He's definitely more concerned now.

Precariously pulling into a parking spot and cutting the engine, Ben jumps out of the speeder but remembers, at the last minute, that he’s in public. Instead of sprinting down the remaining block to Hux’s building like he wants to, he calmly (or as calmly as he can manage) weaves through the crowd on the sidewalk. There is, at least, not too much of a crowd to get through: between the number of people in speeders and transports on the airways above them and the automated sidewalk being on the _other_ side of the road, Ben has dealt with far larger mobs on practically any populated Outer Rim planet. He may not like the traffic or the order of the Core worlds too much, but even Ben has to admit that the organised chaos of Republic City is much easier to deal with than the madness that is Mos Eisley.

The presumably late hour—‘presumably’ because he’d not even adjusted his chrono before rushing out of the old warehouse to drive here—and the relative darkness of this particular street makes it easier for Ben to ‘shield’ his presence in the Force. The pedestrians seem too absorbed in their own lives, anyway, to notice someone calmly walking in the shadows of the streetlights and billboards.

Not that masking his identity matters now, anyway; the only reason he did that last time was to protect Hux’s campaign from scrutiny. And now that it’s... _over..._ well, it doesn’t really matter if someone recognises him going to see Hux, does it?

Still, in the name of his privacy, he deflects all attention away from himself. He slips into Hux’s building with ease and boards the turbolift still unnoticed. It’s not until he steps out into Hux’s hallway, takes the first few steps toward his door, that Ben realises the anxiety he feels is not _his –_ he may be worried about Hux, but he’s not _that_ on edge. Being this physically close to Hux, Ben is sensing _Hux’s_ emotions. But…interestingly, it’s not the despair or anguish Ben was expecting, given Leia’s comments and Hux’s comm silence. No, Hux is...deliberating.

_Probably still in the denial stage of grief,_ Ben thinks to himself as he keys an entry request on the touchpad outside Hux’s door.

There’s no response.

Ben tries twice more, but again there’s no response. He reaches out with the Force and he _can feel_ Hux’s presence in the apartment within; he’s either ignoring the door or sleeping, and Ben doesn’t have the patience to wait and find out.

Shifting his focus to the wall beside the door, Ben hones in on the touchpad on the inside of the apartment and, as if with ghostly fingers, presses the button that will let him in. He grins to himself as the door slides open, pleased that this trick he and Tanma had taught themselves so many years ago—to get into the kitchens at night for extra snacks, of course—still works.

He glances around the apartment interior, noting no change in the spartan decor (or really, lack thereof) of the place. The holo-projector sits off, quiet; the ice-blue couch looks like it hasn’t been sat on in months; the kitchenette is so clean it appears untouched; the curtains hanging in front of the balcony doorway are drawn and sway in a light breeze. The only thing off is the enormous pile of flimsis—actual, printed out, flimsiplast documents—scattered around the low table in the living room.

Hux may be a workaholic, but he would not bring work home on _flimsi_ when he has several datapads and a large fancy console at the office (well, _had)_ —this must be some other project.

In case Hux is sleeping, Ben pads softly to a door he assumes is the bedroom; it’s been left ajar. He peers in, and though the room is dark there is definitely no one inside: the bed is neatly made, with a few creases showing someone has sat on it, and the wardrobe is wide open. (Ben tries not to judge the volume of fancy tunics, coats, capes, and other ornate garments.) The light in the refresher is off, which leaves only one place for Hux to be.

When he pushes back the curtains to the balcony, Ben almost shrieks in alarm.

“Hux!” he cries, not even thinking twice before he reaches out with the Force to physically pull the other man down from the balcony railing.

Hux makes a noise of surprise, turning around sharply to face Ben, his deep burgundy cloak spreading out around him like wings against the night sky, until he very ungraciously stumbles forward, pulled by unseen hands back down to the balcony.

“Ren!” Hux gets out before he hits the floor, hands flung out too late to catch his unexpected tumble. Instead, he hits his face on the tile; his teeth clamp down on his lower lip and his nose bends at an awkward angle, though thankfully there’s no telltale _crunch_ of anything breaking.

Immediately Ben drops to his knees, pushing Hux upright by his shoulders to inspect the damage. Hux’s nose appears unbroken, since it bounces back to its regular shape, but blood is starting to bead on his lip. Ben sees the pocket square in Hux’s shirt and grabs it, immediately dabbing at the blood; the cloth, at least, matches the burgundy tunic and cloak, meaning the blood won’t stain it. Hopefully.

“Ren, what the _kriff?”_

“I should ask you the same!” Ben says, his eyebrows furrowing in worry.

“You broke into _my_ house and you want to question _me?_ How did you even get in— No, never mind.” Hux shakes his head, dislodging Ben’s handkerchief-clad hand from his mouth and snatching the cloth back from him. With his other hand, Hux prods at the bridge of his nose and hisses. “It’s some Force banthashit that let you in here, I’m sure.”

“What were you _doing_ out here, Hux?” Ben asks. He lowers his hand lamely, almost sad that he can’t be more helpful in tending to Hux’s wounds—wounds that _he_ inflicted.

Hux looks dumbfounded. “Again with the questions? _You’re_ the one in my home, interrupting me at my...thinking place.”

“Your _thinking_ place,” Ben deadpans. The balcony railing, _really?_

“Yes,” Hux splutters. “But you haven’t answered me. What are _you_ doing here?”

“I was on Hosnian Prime for a supply run,” Ben answers, giving Hux the same innocent excuse he’d given Leia. “When I heard the news I came here as fast as I could. I was so worried when you didn’t answer the door, so I had to get in.”

“You actually requested entry?”

Ben nods.

Hux considers him for a second. “Huh. Well, I suppose I didn’t hear you from out here. I apologise.”

The sudden mellowness in Hux’s tone catches Ben off guard.

Ben watches Hux dab his lip one more time, grimacing at the sting, and gather himself up to stand. He brushes off unseen dust from his white pants and gestures at the living room door.

“We should go inside, I should clean myself up a little.”

It’s not like Hux at all to be this unquestioning of Ben’s motives, or so accepting of his phony excuse. Something is definitely not right.

“Hux…” Ben hesitates at first as he follows Hux back inside from the balcony, but decides to push on anyway. Contrary to his status as a politician, Ben knows that on a personal level Hux can be very blunt: Hux would appreciate that same courtesy being extended to him. “Hux, what happened?”

Hux pauses in the doorway to his bedroom and angles his head so that Ben can see his cheek. “Ah. Right. You heard the news. Well…” He sighs, turns his face away. He touches the wall, and the lights in his room go on. “Severi received an anonymous tip. They knew I’d been funding the Resistance and gave me a choice.”

Ben shifts awkwardly on his feet in the silence that follows. Hux swallows loudly, still looking away from him.

“Is that all?”

“Let me…” Hux sighs. “Ren, I’ve been in these kriffing Senate clothes for almost a full cycle by now. Let me change before we discuss it further.”

Glancing at the chrono on Hux’s wall, Ben realises that _is_ indeed late; he must have landed much later than he’d originally thought, seeing as sunrise is only a few hours away. The closing of a door snaps Ben’s attention back to the room, where he’s now alone and awkwardly standing amongst the mess of flimsi documents on the table.

With nothing else to do, Ben picks one up and inspects it: it holds a string of numbers and data, most likely downloaded from some sort of datalog, but Ben was never good with this sort of thing. Slicing and computers were always Jaina’s job. He does vaguely recognise a few dates on the sheet, but without context he can’t quite understand the document’s purpose. Most of the other flimsiplast documents contain much of the same.

Ben looks up when he hears Hux’s door slide open again, and he barely contains a startled gasp.

Hux is out of his Senate regalia, in what Ben presumes are either pajamas or lounge clothes: soft beige pants and, of all things, a short, pleated black _robe_ to complete the look. Although it’s tied shut, Ben finds his eyes drawn to the sliver of pale collarbone between the dipping v-neckline created by the robe; he quickly averts his gaze back to the sheet in his hand. Thankfully, Hux’s eyes are also glued to the documents and he appears not to have noticed.

“Good, you’ve seen them already,” Hux starts, picking up another sheet from the table. “I’ve been studying these all night. And the only thing I can conclude is...alarming.”

“What?” Ben tilts his head, growing even more confused with Hux’s behaviour.

“I printed these off before I cleared out my desk,” Hux says, almost nonchalantly. Almost _too_ casually. “I needed to go over all the communications datalogs and downloads. I printed out these flimsis because if there’s been a leak, going through them with a datapad or console isn’t trustworthy.”

“Hux,” Ben interrupts, his concern growing. He frowns. “Hux, are you telling me you mined through what looks like months worth of datalogs _by hand_ to...look for a potential leak?”

Hux looks up at him with annoyance. “Of course. Severi was _handed_ this information, and I needed to know if someone had sliced into my records and somehow deciphered all the encryption I had in place. And, I’ll have you know, I can confirm the leak was _not_ from my side.”

Ben furrows his brows. “So what you’re saying is—”

“The Resistance has a mole.” Hux sticks his chin up defiantly, as if this information is vitally important and he’s discovered it all on his own.

Which...both points are technically _true._

“Have you told Leia?”

Hux nods. “I sent word just before I went out to my balcony and was so rudely interrupted by _you._ I needed to be sure before I went raising alarms, and combing through data by hand is not exactly the quickest activity.”

Ben takes a calming deep breath, dispelling the sense of urgency he’d felt building within him. “Then there’s not much more we can do. Not from here. Leia knows, she’ll take care of it, and—”

“No!” Hux reaches for an actual _notebook,_ with handwritten notes scrawled over the page it’s turned to. “It’s too serious an issue to be ignoring. In between reading the data, as ideas came to me, I started jotting down strategies Leia might like to employ while she’s looking for the mole. I haven’t sent any to her yet because I was waiting to have a more complete list. She’ll have to set up a whole new encryption scheme, which I’m sure Jaina could help with, and…”

As Hux rambles on, Ben begins to see the problem: Hux is deflecting. He’s ignoring his own situation, his own problem, in favour of trying to be useful, to be _still needed_ elsewhere. But even as Hux continues talking about all these technical solutions and data management strategies, as animated as he is, Ben can see the shadows under his eyes, the exhaustion in his posture. Hux has been up most of the night doing all this work despite having had an extremely emotional day. More likely _because_ he had an emotional day, seeing as he’s using this work as an excuse to avoid his present; this work which he should by no means be doing at all, being half a galaxy away from D’Qar.

Ben needs to do _something._ Even if, for now, it’s just to help Hux get some sleep.

Hux does not have a weak mind; quite the contrary. Hux has one of the strongest-willed minds that Ben has ever encountered. But Ben is _very good_ at what he does, and (aside from the other Jedi masters) only Leia was ever able to resist his meddling.

It’s easy enough to take a deep, focusing breath while Hux prattles on—the man is practically talking to himself since Ben hardly understands half of what he’s saying anyway. As gently as he can, Ben slips into Hux’s mind as if he were tiptoeing into a room: slowly, softly, on high alert. It’s easier this time than it was in Hux’s office, a testament to his current fragile state of mind; Ben hopes some rest will fix that. He pays no attention to anything other than finding the thread of exhaustion within Hux, and even that is fairly easy. After untangling it from the web of other confused thoughts, Ben tugs on it gently, bringing the thought of sleep to the forefront of Hux’s mind.

Ben will be the first to admit it’s not his finest inception, but it gets the job done.

Hux reacts immediately, interrupting his sentence with a yawn.

“Are you all right, Hux?” Ben asks innocently.

“Yes, I…” Hux frowns. “I must be more tired than I thought.”

“You look pretty exhausted,” Ben agrees before adding helpfully, “Maybe you should go to sleep? Tell me about the rest of this tomorrow?”

Hux nods, his eyelids finally giving up the fight and beginning to droop. “Sounds fair. If you’re staying, the couch is quite comfortable. Goodnight, Ren.”

And with that, Hux wanders back into his bedroom.

Ben, at first, can’t help his self-satisfied smile; not even Tanma was ever able to work small mind tricks on someone as strong-minded as Hux. And, according to her, she’d even _tried,_ back when there’d been some Senate vote that affected Iridonia.

After a moment of gloating to an empty room, Ben’s expression falls. It was one thing to manhandle Hux off the balcony bannister with the Force, but mind-tricking him into going to bed—even if it _is_ for his own good—is a bit far. Guilt begins to settle in Ben’s stomach, but it’s too late now: the light is already off in Hux’s bedroom. Instead, Ben resolves to never use such tricks on Hux again.

Ben glances around himself, the mostly-immaculate living room still and the hum of Republic City barely audible. He might as well get some rest, too. And Hux _did_ offer his couch, so Ben doesn’t have to go back to his bunk on the _Executor._

He settles himself down on the plush couch, shucking his jacket and toeing off his boots before he puts his feet up. It’s a bit cramped, but no less comfortable than his bunk; it’ll be a nice change. There’s a soft, patterned throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, so he grabs it and drapes it over his torso. It’s not cold, but the extra layer will make him feel cozier at the very least.

Belatedly, Ben realises he’s left all the lights on; he’ll just relax for a few moments before getting up to do that. He starts considering his plan of action here, what he’ll do with an emotionally compromised Hux —something with which he’s not in any way prepared to deal—but within moments Ben’s eyes drift shut and he falls into blissful, dreamless slumber.

* * *

Ben groans as he wakes, his throat parched and his mouth tasting of sleep. Grimacing, he sits up and takes in his surroundings, the unfamiliar couch and living room confusing him for the briefest moment; the sight of Republic City’s skyline, glittering in the morning sun, reorients him. He glances at the door to Hux’s bedroom and finds it open, but there’s no sign of the man himself in the living room or the kitchenette. Ben pads quietly to the bedroom door and inspects the room, only to find it empty; though the curtains are still drawn and the room is dark, the bed is precisely made and the wardrobe has been shut.

When Ben turns back around to the living room, looking at it from a different angle, he finally spots Hux again out on the balcony, still in his pajamas – this time, _thank the Force,_ leaning against the railing rather than stood atop it. Ben must have been more tired than he thought if he slept through Hux slipping past him to the balcony. He approaches slowly, warily, uncertain of Hux’s mood this morning. Uncertain if Hux has figured out Ben mind-tricked him into sleeping last night, and if he’s annoyed because of it.

Hux has many things to be mad about, but Ben hopes that’s not one of them.

Ben stops just inside the doorway when he realises Hux isn’t just staring out over the city; he’s got his datapad in hand and is playing out a holo-message. The voice speaking is familiar – not Korr Sella, but Hux’s other aide.

“...but I suppose I can’t call you Senator anymore, can I?” the togruta’s, whose name Ben can’t recall right now, says in the recording. “The office is cleared out, like you requested. Korr will bring you whatever files we’ve been allowed to keep, and I’ve left everything else at the Chancellor’s office, since most of it is technically government property. Everything’s been arranged. You needn’t worry yourself about it. But of course you knew that, since you entrusted Korr and me with the task.”

Ben shuffles on his feet. If his offices are cleared out, it really is official: Hux is no longer a senator.

“I called to tell you something else,” the holo-message continues. “I’m returning to Shili. Definitely until this blows over, maybe even permanently. My sister-in-law works for the prime minister, and I’ve accepted an offer to work with them because if I can’t work with you, then…” The voice sighs. “I won’t work with another senator. I believed in, I _still_ believe in, the work we were doing. I am fragging pissed that it had to end this way. Maybe I can do more good back home, maybe people might actually believe what I tell them about the Resistance. About the things you’ve told me about...that _other_ group.”

Ben’s eyebrows shoot up. Hux must have trusted his aides a fair amount if he told them about the First Order. Granted, he may not have told them the _whole_ truth: just enough to convince both of them how important the Resistance is. But Hux must have been _very_ convincing, if it inspired this kind of loyalty in his aides.

“I’ll miss you, Sen—uh, Hux. Kaitee will, too. It asked me to let you know that it hopes to someday work with you again, because you are the most, and I quote, _‘competent being I have had the pleasure of working with.’_ I’m not sure if that’s a huge compliment for you or a slight at me. I’ll have to check Kaitee’s programming before we get on the transport to Shili…” A pause, followed by a string of curses in a language Ben doesn’t recognise. “Keep in touch with us, Hux. You may have just seen yourself as my boss and me as your employee, but just know that I consider you a friend. Do me a favour and don’t obsess over this mess like I know you will. Please, move on. You’re brilliant and there are a great many other things you could do instead of wasting energy obsessing. And take care of yourself. For goodness sake stock up your conservator and your pantry, and remember to eat, please? For me and Kaitee? Thank you.”

“It’s rude to eavesdrop, you know.”

Ben starts, looking up to stare at Hux.

Hux sighs, clicks off his datapad, and goes back to considering the horizon. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Ben replies as he shakes off his initial surprise and steps forward to stand next to Hux. “Did you sleep well?”

“Surprisingly so. I’d thought I would be tossing and turning, if I got any sleep at all. I suppose I was more tired than I thought.” Hux eyes Ben sidelong for a moment, but doesn’t say anything else on that topic. “And you? My couch is comfortable but not exactly...accommodating for someone of your size.”

Ben rubs his neck, for the first time noticing the soreness at having slept at an awkward angle. “Yeah, I guess. I slept about as well as I do in my bunk on the _Executor.”_ He glances over his shoulder back into the living room. “It’s a lot prettier than my bunk though, I’ll say that.”

Hux snorts. “I had no control over the decor in my apartment. It was all included, though I was given a choice on the colour scheme. Esmelle and Korrie chose for me before I could intervene.” Still avoiding looking at Ben, Hux gestures vaguely behind him. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. There’s not much, but feel free to take whatever’s there.”

Ben stares at Hux a moment longer, tilting his head in an attempt to understand Hux’s demeanor this morning, but the man obviously doesn’t want to talk. Ben heads back inside, making a beeline for the kitchen; since Hux mentioned food, Ben’s stomach showed interest at the prospect.

The contents of the conservator, however, are underwhelming and disappointing: a few containers of cut fruit, some leftovers of something that’s shelflife has long since expired, and a half-consumed bottle of wine. Ben roots around in the cabinets, and aside from two unopened bottles of Corellian brandy, the rest of the kitchen is equally disappointing.

“Hux?” Ben calls. “Do you really have no other food?”

“I’m rarely home for meals,” Hux shouts back. “I don’t even know what’s in my conservator.” He appears in the doorway, looking disinterested, as if gazing out over Republic City just _needs_ his attention. “There should be some fruit. Help yourself.”

“No wonder you’re so skinny, if you only eat fruit,” Ben grumbles. Now that he thinks about it, the only time he’s ever seen Hux eating something _other_ than fruit was the small restaurant on Arkanis.

“What was that?” Hux asks, finally coming in from the balcony and joining Ben in the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Ben says innocently. He pulls out a container of meiloorun and starts shoving some of the pieces into his mouth with his hands. “Do you not buy groceries?” he asks around a piece of fruit.

Hux wrinkles his nose, and Ben isn’t sure whether it’s at the fact he’s eating with his fingers or if Hux finds the thought of doing his own chores that beneath him. Perhaps both.

“I don’t know how to cook beyond instant meals,” Hux admits. He pulls a fork from a drawer and nudges Ben’s fingers aside to pick up a slice of meiloorun. “Esmelle would have Kaitee place grocery orders with delivery droids.” He pauses, the tines of the fork catching on his lower lip, which surprisingly have barely any scabs from last night’s accident. “I suppose I’ll have to do that myself, now.”

Ben catches himself staring at the fork pressing on Hux’s lip and quickly averts his gaze back to the fruit.

“I can order them,” Ben offers instead. “And don’t ask if I know how. Whenever Leia had to work late when I was visiting, we’d always get delivery meals.”

He moves to pick up Hux’s datapad from the counter where he placed it, but Hux snatches it up with his free hand, a dogged expression in his eyes.

“I don’t need your pity, Ren. I can do it myself.”

Ben should have known: Hux is obviously not the type to ask help or charity, and is far too stubborn and arrogant to accept it when offered. He’ll have to play this right.

“It’s not for _you,”_ Ben says, holding his open palm up for Hux to hand him the datapad. “It’s for _me._ I’m hungry and I would like something to eat other than meiloorun.”

Hux eyes him for a moment, but acquiesces. He places the datapad in Ben’s waiting palm.

“So are you going to finish telling me about the plan?” Ben asks, cautiously testing the waters of Hux’s mood. Ben gestures at the table of documents before turning his attention back to the datapad and ordering some groceries.

“No,” Hux admits. He chews on another piece of fruit before continuing. “You’re right. Leia will take care of it, she has people far more suited to tackle an issue such as this. I’d be wasting my time.”

Ben eyes him for a moment. Hux’s tone holds no bitterness, and Ben can only feel a numb calmness rolling off of Hux.

It worries him.

They spend the rest of the morning practically dancing around each other: Hux tidies his mess of flimsiplast notes and flutters about the apartment somehow keeping himself occupied, while Ben sits on the balcony to meditate. Admittedly, it _is_ remarkably peaceful up here: the traffic can barely be heard, and the view is stunning. The way the sun glints off the mountains, the sea, and the skyscrapers has an oddly beautiful charm. Not one Ben is used to, given that most of his time is spent in the Outer Rim, but this view is not unwelcome.

In truth, Ben is only half-meditating. Mostly, he’s focused on what to do about Hux’s situation. Hux is...behaving strangely, to say the least, like a time bomb that will explode viciously once the shock of the situation fades and reality sets in. And if Hux is going to break, Ben needs to stay a few days and make sure he’s not alone when it happens. Or in the aftermath _._ It won’t be easy, given Hux’s reluctance to accept any help, but if he hasn’t kicked Ben out by now, surely that means he doesn’t want to be alone at the moment.

Ben briefly ponders if it’s _his_ company that Hux wants to be in, or anyone at all.

Shaking away the thought, Ben inhales deeply to re-focus on the task at hand.

Hux likes to think he’s selfless—though he _can_ be generous and wants only good things for the galaxy, he is by no means a true altruist—so if Ben lets him think he’s doing _Ben_ a favour, Hux will let him stay. It’s a sure plan, Ben tells himself: if Hux asks again why Ben is here, Ben will tell him he needed time off from his duties on Yavin 4 and D’Qar and wanted to spend time with his...friend.

His musings are interrupted by the sound of a holo-projector being turned on, and the HoloNet News jingle floats over to his ears.

With a final deep breath, Ben settles on his plan of attack. If he explains it that way, Hux will think he’s doing something good, will feel _needed,_ which will allow Ben to keep an eye on him for at least a few days—so that Ben can be here for the fallout.

Wandering back into the living room, Ben finds Hux settled stiffly onto one corner of his couch, tucking into a small carton of blue yoghurt and staring intently at HNN. The delivery droid must have stopped by while Ben was outside. He crosses over to the kitchen and helps himself to some food, feeling a little guilty at having left Hux to pay; then again, Hux hadn’t asked. Besides, Ben left the _Executor_ last night in such a hurry he’d neglected to bring even his credit chit, let alone a change of clothes.

Thinking of which, Ben should probably return to the ship at some point to get some. He’ll have to use Hux’s refresher and shower after he gets back, seeing as he’s wearing the same clothes he flew from Yavin 4 in, but that can wait until he makes sure Hux will be okay without him for a little bit.

It’s not until Ben is settled on the sofa beside Hux, idly chewing on a biscuit for dessert, that he realises letting Hux watch HNN may have been a bad idea.

“The Senate, and quite frankly most of the public, is still reeling from Senator Hux’s announcement yesterday,” the keshian news anchor states. “We’ve been speculating all morning regarding the mysterious circumstances, Eliss, but we’ve yet to reach a conclusion. What do you make of the situation?”

The camera pans to a bright yellow rodian, Eliss, the caption declaring him a ‘political analyst.’ When he speaks in his native tongue, a translator droid layers over him in a monotonous voice in Basic.

“Well, Anders,” he says, the translator making him seem more bored than his animated body language suggests, “it is indeed an interesting situation. The senator’s statement cited personal reasons, which is about as vague as you can get in politics. It is totally unprecedented for Senator Hux, who has always been a career-oriented man. Yet, at the same time, it is _because_ he is so private that we have no idea what this personal issue could be.”

The keshian journalist, who Ben now recognises as Anders Cuup, nods along. “Which is exactly right. However, Senator Hux recently came forward about a secret long-term partner, and reiterated his request that the media avoid his private life. Do you think this could have something to do with this mysterious partner?”

Ben turns to look at Hux so fast he almost gives himself whiplash; Hux, on the other hand, has turned bright red and is very obviously _not_ looking at Ben, focusing on the holo-projector.

Ben feels an irrational flash of jealousy – Hux has a _partner?_ A myriad of questions rush through Ben’s mind: what, how, and most of all _who?_ Suddenly Ben wishes he’d allowed himself to access the holonet while on Yavin 4. But he and all the others had been so preoccupied with training, and had been so exhausted by the end of every day none of them had even thought to catch up with the rest of the galaxy – if anything major happened, Leia would have contacted them.

The news segment continues, and Ben unwillingly turns his attention back to it as he resolves to ask Hux later.

“That very well may be,” Eliss responds. “I, however, do not think that is the case. I simply think that Senator Hux felt he was not ready to take on the responsibility of chancellor. He would have been the youngest chancellor on record, for both the New and Old Republics, and a lot of his colleagues felt he lacked the experience for the role. Senator Hux may have come to believe that.”

“But he performed admirably in all the debates,” Anders argues. “Spoke well, as he always does, and made some excellent points.”

Ben’s lip curls up at the blatant fawning by Anders. He already feels put on edge by the whole _‘partner’_ thing, and this simply serves to irritate him more.

Eliss shrugs, the timbre of the translator droid bizarrely at odds with the expression. “Politics are quite superficial, Anders. What one puts forth publicly is one thing, what one may _feel_ on the inside is different.”

“Then why retire? Why not pull out from the race?” Anders purses his lips and pauses for dramatic effect. “Why something so drastic as ending his senatorial career? Because surely, there’s no coming back from a sudden retirement on the eve of an election like this.”

“That is the big question, Anders. My thoughts are that he has been courted for a position of local governance on his homeworld. He has, after all, quite recently returned from a tour on Arkanis where he successfully initiated another five-year plan. We will just have to wait and see what his next move is.”

Anders nods thoughtfully before thanking his guest and directly facing the camera. “In the meantime, former senator and current Governor of Birren Lady Carise Sindian has stepped in as deputy senator of Arkanis until local elections can be arranged. Watch this space – I know _I’ll_ be looking forward to seeing the next career move of Armitage Hux! And now, we return to our very own Col Riesan, live outside the Senate Chambers, covering the events of these _interesting_ elections. Col?”

With a hurried flourish, Hux gets up off the couch and switches off the screen in a quick motion, immediately sweeping back across the room and setting himself back down heavily. Ben watches him with a curious gaze the entire time, keeping his eyes peeled on him.

_“‘Secret long-term partner?’”_ Ben asks after a moment, unable to quiet his curiosity. At least it sounds like an innocent question, and the jealous feeling burning in his chest is not evident in his tone.

Hux’s cheekbones heat to the same red as before, and he again refuses to meet Ben’s gaze. “Publicity stunt. Don’t ask.”

Ben hums. Publicity stunt? Did that mean so-called partner didn’t exist?

Hux looks as if he doesn’t want to discuss the subject further, and Ben cedes – for now. The knowledge of this person perhaps not existing, and just being a publicity stunt, cools his chest enough to let it go. They sit in silence for a while, Hux’s pallor returning to normal eventually. He still won’t meet Ben’s eyes, and he seems to be staring a hole into his own floor.

“What is it?”

“I’ve been out of office less than a day,” Hux laments immediately, “and already they’re tarnishing my career.”

“Hux.” Ben sighs, brows furrowing in confusion. “That segment was pretty tame. They still respect you, they’re not throwing you into a rancor pit.”

Hux scoffs. He finally turns to Ben, ice in his eyes. “They were questioning my ability to hold office.”

“In the context of trying to figure out why you _voluntarily_ left office.” Ben shrugs. Hux makes to interject but Ben shushes him by placing an outstretched hand on his shoulder. “They don’t know it wasn’t voluntary. And let them think that, or your reputation would be far worse off. _That_ piece,” Ben says as he gestures at the holoscreen. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a piece on a politician be as polite as that one. And _trust me,_ I’ve seen many. Especially after my mother’s scandal.”

“Those were rather brutal,” Hux admits, staring down his nose at Ben’s hand on his shoulder.

Ben shrugs again, taking his hand back. “Yeah, and believe me, it was not fun being included in some of them.”

“I was, too. May I remind you that I was in office at the time, and as someone who had worked under her, my every accomplishment was called into question?”

“Well,” Ben says, his tone bitter, “it wasn’t your entire family that had its name dragged through the mud and respect thrown out of the airlock. You don’t know what _that’s_ like.”

Hux vaguely pouts, facing away from Ben again. “I didn’t mean it like _that._ I can’t begin to say I understand what it’s like to have all my family’s skeletons dragged out of the closet and broadcast for the whole galaxy to see. I just meant that _I_ didn’t come out unscathed, either.”

“You didn’t have it as hard as me, Leia, or even Luke! You just feel like the blow was less because you always knew the secret,” Ben huffs. “What Casterfo presented to the Senate was, after all, from the datacube _you_ brought.”

“I _did_ know, and—” Hux turns suddenly, looking at Ben with wide eyes. “Did...did _you_ not know?”

Ben can feel his own expression darken. “Of course I did. I was just implying your reaction would have been more severe had you not known beforehand. That the shock of Casterfo’s testimony in the Senate was less impactful to you because you knew already.” Ben sneers. “I hate that we never caught his slicer.”

Hux simply observes him silently, as if looking at Ben in a new light, or like he’d never considered that Ben might not have known. Ben sighs, and for reasons he himself is not sure of, he feels the need to explain.

“Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?”

Hux frowns. “I can’t say I have. But I don’t see how this is relevant?”

“Trust me, it’ll make sense,” Ben says. “All you really need to know about the butterfly effect is that it’s a phenomenon in which a small change to circumstances can cause a large change in a situation’s outcome. It takes its name from the weather: a butterfly flapping its wings causes the tiniest change in atmosphere, but that change could affect a storm elsewhere—not necessarily a _cause,_ but an _alteration_ of circumstances that leads to one event instead of another.”

“Right,” Hux interrupts. “Simple enough. You’re describing chaos theory. But I don’t understand what this has to do with your _family?”_

Ben rolls his eyes at Hux’s impatience, but continues on anyway: “Before I was born, Han and Leia made a decision not to tell me about Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader. They felt I deserved to be free from that shadow, from that mark on our family line. But Luke…had a vision.”

Frowning, Ben pauses for a moment. Perhaps he shouldn’t be telling Hux all of this, but it’s too late to back down now.

As if sensing his hesitation, Hux puts an unsure hand on Ben’s shoulder and squeezes once, encouraging.

“Luke knew, even before I was born, that I had darkness in me. He always told my mother: ‘the brighter the light, the darker the shadow.’ In his vision, he saw that if the secret was kept from me, one day I would find out in the worst way possible. That I would feel betrayed, and wholly embrace the darkness within me, forsaking the light.”

Beside him, Hux shudders. Ben knows that Hux doesn’t understand the Force, but Hux is smart: he’s at least figured out that embracing the dark side is something bad.

“Luke couldn’t let that happen,” Ben presses on. “He begged my parents to tell me the truth, to never hide that part of our family from me. That is the butterfly: that seemingly small decision my parents made to tell me something, all those years ago. And the consequence is me, here, sitting next to you on this couch instead of somewhere out there, probably murdering people. Who knows? I might even have joined the First Order.”

Hux is silent for a long moment, pursing his lips in consideration. When he finally looks back at Ben, there’s confusion in his eyes.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Ben shrugs. “I suppose it’s half because you were so honest with me on Arkanis, I thought I’d return the favour. And the other half…well. Take my story as a prime example of how every action we take, every single decision we make, can have such a big effect down the line. It just goes to show how everything happens for a reason.”

The last word is barely out of Ben’s mouth before Hux is getting up off the couch. He makes an unamused grunt and heads towards the kitchen, where he roots around the cabinets for a glass tumbler and pulls out...one of the bottles of brandy.

“Hux?”

“If you’re going to hit me with the ‘everything happens for a reason’ banthashit, I need a drink.” He cracks open the bottle, pours himself a few fingers, and looks up at Ben expectantly. “I suppose I should offer you some.”

“No, thank you,” Ben says warily as he glances at the chrono. “Hux, it’s still early in the afternoon.”

Hux adds more liquor to the glass seemingly out of spite, his annoyed gaze steadily on Ben. “And I don’t have anywhere to be tonight. You don’t have any plans, do you?”

Ben frowns as he watches Hux take the first sip of his brandy. “No. Though I should probably go back to the _Executor_ to grab a change of clothes. I flew from Yavin 4 in these and I’m sure they’re starting to smell.”

“Go ahead,” Hux says dismissively, waving his glass-free hand vaguely at the door. “I’ll be...here. There’s nowhere else I _can_ go, really.”

Ben hesitates. Hux is determinedly taking sips from his brandy and very obviously _not looking_ at Ben, hinting he wants his space.

With a sigh, Ben tells Hux he’ll be back shortly and slips out of the apartment, getting to his speeder and cutting across Republic City to the hangar-warehouse in record time. Once there and back on board the _Executor_ , he picks up an old leather satchel he rarely uses anymore—he prefers to just sleep on the ship whenever he needs to overnight planetside—and grabs a few articles of clothing to stuff in it. He barely pays attention to the shirts, briefs, and single pair of pants he picks out; most of his clothes are in neutral shades anyway, so matching isn’t a problem. He picks up his credit chit and datapad, pushing them into the satchel as well, and is about to leave again when he decides to take this moment of privacy to contact Leia. He boots up the ship’s communications system and plops down in the pilot’s seat, his mother’s holo-projection already visualising above his dashboard.

“Ben,” Leia greets as she answers the call. She looks no more tired or stressed than usual, which is probably a good sign. “How are you?”

Ben nods at his mother’s holo-projection. “Fine. I just stepped out of Hux’s apartment for a bit to call you.”

“And how is he?”

“He’s…” Ben frowns. “He’s strangely calm. I fear the reality hasn’t quite hit him yet. He was going crazy last night, agonising over this huge stack of documents. But today, he’s... _too_ serene.” Ben decides not to mention the drinking. It’ll be of no consequence because he’ll just make sure he’s around so that Hux doesn’t do anything drastic. “I assume you got his message?”

Leia sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“And…?”

“I’m keeping it under wraps for now,” Leia states, her lips twisting with concern. “I don’t want to raise panic until this is confirmed.”

“Have Jaina look into it,” Ben suggests. “You know she’s good with this, and you can trust her.”

Leia nods. “I was going to say the same thing. But...what Hux claims is not... _unfeasible.”_

“You’re saying it’s possible that there’s a mole?”

“There is a possibility. The timing...is too close to be coincidental.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “The timing of what?”

“Well, and nobody else knows this yet, but…” Leia casts a glance around the room she’s in, presumably her office, as if making sure she won’t be overheard. “I rerouted one of my spies in the fringes of the Unknown Regions. Her orders came from me, and were only recorded on my datapad. She stopped checking in three days ago. I haven’t been able to contact her since. The fact that both her and Hux were compromised so close together, both with information that was definitely stored on my datapad…”

Call it instinct, or a sense from the Force, but Ben somehow doubts the two events are connected; even last night, when Hux had been rambling on and on about the Resistance having a mole, Ben hadn’t been convinced. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t felt urgent about the matter. And, if the look in her eye is any indication, Leia doesn’t seem convinced either.

“We won’t know until Jaina can check up your system,” Ben rationalises. “There’s no need to raise any alarms yet. I’ll come to you in a few days and hopefully we’ll have more information; we can see where to go from there.”

Leia nods, the corners of her mouth quirked up in amusement. “Good. My thoughts exactly. You’re getting good at this, Ben.”

Ben shifts on his feet, unsure what to say to his mother’s praise.

She doesn’t seem to mind, seeing as she continues on: “I’m assuming by ‘a few days’ you mean you’ll stay with Hux a while longer?”

“As long as he needs me,” Ben confirms. “I’m worried the other shoe will drop soon and…he’ll need a friend when that happens.”

“He has a bit of an ego, Ben,” Leia warns. “If for one second he thinks you’re taking pity on him, he’ll take offense and shut you out. Tread carefully.”

“I will. I should probably head back, anyway.”

Leia smiles fully now, even though her eyes are filled with concern. For Ben, for Hux, or for something else entirely, Ben isn’t sure.

“Keep me updated, Ben.”

* * *

By the time Ben arrives back at Hux’s apartment, the sun hangs low in the sky. He notices the brandy has moved from the kitchen onto the living room table, and a significantly worrying dent has been made into the contents of the bottle. Hux is again on the couch, watching some travel documentary about Naboo on the holo-projector and nursing a near-empty glass close to his chest. Aside from granting Ben entry to the apartment, Hux does little else than acknowledge him in nods and hums of agreement, which is all Ben gets when he asks Hux if he can use the refresher.

Ben feels bad to leave Hux alone again, even though he’s just in the other room, but Hux would not appreciate Ben hovering around him like a doting mother, either, so Ben gives him his space.

The shower is a nice change to the sonic on the _Executor_ and the hot water is actually a temperature Ben enjoys, unlike the rudimentary water heaters they have set up on Yavin 4. He helps himself to the shampoo and conditioner and fancy-smelling soaps lining the shelf. He selfishly takes his time lathering up his body, working the tangles out of his hair, and savours the feeling of the hot water running over his tired muscles, almost _feeling_ the exhaustion from weeks of training seeping out and washing away down the drain.

He’s just about done when he hears glass shattering in the living room.

Ben hurriedly shuts off the water and grabs the first towel he can reach, securing it around his waist and rushing out of the refresher to see what’s happened.

“Congratulations to our new Chancellor!” The holo-projector has been turned back to HNN, where a pantoran journalist beams at someone offscreen. “Let’s head live to the Senate chambers, where _Chancellor_ Lanever Villecham will soon be making his victory speech!”

“That should be me,” Hux croaks, his voice bitter and his words slurring under the influence of the brandy.

Turning to Hux, Ben sees the source of the noise that disrupted his shower: Hux’s left hand sits in a pile of broken glass and a puddle of brandy on the living room table, having slammed the tumbler against it. As if not even noticing the mess, Hux is sat up on the edge of the couch, back stiff and straight, eyes narrowed at the holoscreen.

Hux hasn’t even noticed the blood starting to swirl in with the brandy.

“Hux!” Ben exclaims, shutting off HNN and crossing the living room hurriedly. “Your hand!”

Hux actually has the gall to look displeased that Ben has turned off the broadcast. His upper lip curls into a sneer. “What about it?”

Ben grabs Hux’s forearm and pulls it away from the table. Some of the shards of glass embedded in his palm shift at the movement and Hux winces, noticing the pain for the first time.

“It’s bleeding, you idiot.”

“I’ve just noticed, thank you.” Hux scowls.

Ben sighs. At least the brandy will have disinfected the cuts.

“Do you have any bandages? I need to clean this up.”

“I can do it myself,” Hux insists, his upper lip still stubbornly curled.

Ben levels him with a stare and gently waves the bloody hand in front of Hux’s gaze. “You have shards of glass in your palm and you’re bleeding, are you really going to say no to my help?”

Hux considers his hand for a moment before sighing. “There should be some bandages in the medicine cabinet in the refresher.”

“Thank you,” Ben responds, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He finds bacta patches and small scissors to cut the patch to size and brings them both to the living room.

If Hux had sobered up for the few seconds he was resisting Ben’s help, he seems to have reverted back to his drunk state in the minute Ben was retrieving the supplies from the refresher: Hux is staring intently at his bleeding palm, as if he was waiting for it to answer some sort of question, and the (alarmingly empty) bottle of brandy is uncapped in his uninjured hand. Ben tsks at Hux and puts the bottle out of his reach, earning himself a small groan of protest.

“That’s enough for today, Hux,” Ben chides. “Give me your hand.”

Pouting like a child, Hux holds out his left arm and lets Ben start to tenderly remove the glass.

“That should be me,” Hux repeats sullenly. _“I_ should be in the Senate, giving that speech right now. Not being nursed by you.”

“But it’s not,” Ben says, keeping his tone gentle. He ignores the glare Hux shoots him and continues on. “You’re here, not there. You can’t go back in time so just...let the past die. I told you already today that some things...happen for a reason. It’s how you become who you’re meant to be.”

Hux is silent for a long moment, and Ben actually looks up from his hand to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep: he hasn’t, and is watching Ben carefully.

“What?”

“You’re dripping water all over my couch,” Hux states. Ben gets the feeling this isn’t what he’d intended to say.

Hux isn’t technically wrong, though; Ben _is_ still wrapped in the towel, his thick hair dripping water everywhere. Ben can feel some drops sliding down his back but was ignoring them in favour of cleaning Hux’s hand.

“Well, I was kind of in the shower when I ran out to see what happened.”

Hux snorts. “Did you sense my distress? Rush to rescue me?”

“No.” Ben lets out a single chuckle and turns back to the task at hand—literally. “I heard the glass shatter.”

Hux flinches as Ben extracts a particularly large shard. “I am quite frankly surprised you’re not ridiculing me right now.”

“When your hand has healed and you’re sober I _will_ laugh at you over this.” Ben flashes him a playful smile so that Hux knows he’s teasing.

“Laughing _with_ me, or _at_ me? There’s a difference.”

“Hardly,” Ben scoffs. Then he considers the question. “Probably both, seeing as that’s what friends do. Is it not?”

“Friends,” Hux parrots.

“You make it sound like such a novel concept,” Ben teases.

“For me, it is.” Hux tenses as he realises the implications of his sentence, and backtracks immediately. “I mean, between us at least. This is new. You. And, um, me.”

Ben glances up as he removes the last shard of glass from Hux’s palm and smiles: seeing Hux blushing and flustered is a rare sight.

Hux doesn’t seem to notice Ben looking and pushes on. “Just a few months ago you probably thought I was some arrogant politician with his head up his arse, trying to impress your mother to get me political capital. For all I know you _still_ think that, you’re just more willing to tolerate it, now.”

“Contrary to what you believe,” Ben says as he reaches for the bacta patch and the scissors, “I don’t actually hate all politicians. My mother was one, remember?” He holds the bacta patch up to Hux’s palm and visually measures the shape he needs to cut. Then, carefully, he starts to cut the shape.

“Yes, but politicians also _destroyed_ your mother’s reputation. She’s much better off in the Resistance; she gets the respect she deserves _and_ she gets things done.”

“And you don’t?”

Hux sighs. “I tried. I may have gotten things done as slow as this planet orbits its star, but by the Force did I try my best to get things done.”

Ben sets down the scissors and smooths down the patch on Hux’s palm. “You didn’t try, you _did._ There is no try; you do, or you do not.”

“What?”

“An old Jedi saying.” Ben flashes Hux a smile and gives him back his hand. “There, all done.”

Hux looks down at his hand like it’s a foreign object.

“You know, sometimes I wish we’d made our peace sooner. Spending time with you has been...rather pleasant.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. He was expecting a terse ‘thank you,’ and instead he got some sort of compliment? From _Hux?_

Suddenly, as if this night could surprise him any more, Hux starts laughing. A genuine laugh that reaches his eyes, but it doesn’t sound quite right: it’s soft, low, and somewhat self-pitying. When he speaks again, his words are somehow more slurred than they were before.

“You wanted to know about the... _publicity stunt,_ didn’t you?”

Ben perks up a bit. His interest piques.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“I think I’m drunk enough,” Hux admits. He hiccups, a small and vulnerable thing that makes Ben’s heart ache out of sympathy. “Some tabloids saw us together on Arkanis. They failed to recognise”—another hiccup—“you and assumed we were _together_ together. Korrie thought we should take advantage of the claim, saying it would ‘humanise’ me, make me seem more relatable. And, as usual, she was right.” Hux blinks, almost in slow motion, and his nose twitches.

Ben has to look away, staring hard at the table at the small pile of blood-stained glass sitting there. Again, he’s reminded of just how pliable and defenseless Hux is right now, and he just feels like he’s taking advantage of Hux by letting him expose himself like this. He also feels guilty over the flare of jealousy he’d felt earlier—like blaming Hux for something he hadn’t actually done.

“You know what the saddest part is?”

“What?” Ben asks, because he’s in far too deep; he wants to know more.

When he finally responds, Hux’s voice is quieter. Softer. Like speaking too loudly will ruin the moment.

“Like I said, spending time with you is pleasant. I think...I think a part of me wishes it wasn’t just a publicity stunt. That it was actually true.”

Not knowing what to say, Ben remains silent, eyes still trained on the table.

“Ren,” Hux calls, his voice soft.

Ben turns to him and is caught by surprise at the lips pressing against his, unaware of just how close Hux had been hovering to him. Ben stares, cross-eyed, at Hux’s closed eyes and brows knit in determination, but before he can move to gently push Hux away, Ben realises...he doesn’t _want to._ His own eyelids slide shut and he kisses back, savouring the feeling of Hux’s curiously soft lips. Ben tilts his head, trying to change the angle at which their noses are awkwardly mashed against each other, and gets a whiff of the pool of brandy still on the table.

Remembering Hux’s inebriated state, Ben finally breaks the kiss and moves away, ready to face whatever Hux might say.

He doesn’t get the chance, however, because Hux chooses that moment to pass out.

“Great,” Ben deadpans to an empty room. If Hux is _that_ drunk, Ben definitely feels guilty for allowing the kiss to happen. Hux probably won’t even remember it in the morning.

He tries not to let that thought hurt him.

With a sigh, Ben scoops up Hux and goes to set him gently on his bed. Ben returns to the living room, cleaning up the mess of glass, liquor, blood, and bacta packaging and disposing of everything neatly in the kitchen’s garbage chute. The sun has fully set now, so Ben helps himself to some dinner; he notices everything has been largely untouched in the kitchen since he ate lunch, which means Hux hadn’t eaten anything while Ben was out. The degree of his inebriation makes a little more sense.

After tidying up his meagre dinner, Ben returns to the refresher to get dressed. He’s only managed to pull his pants on when he sees the plasteel bucket under the sink, and realises he should probably leave that for Hux – the reckless idiot might need to throw up at some point during the night.

Ben frowns when he enters Hux’s bedroom, annoyed with his own shabby job of tucking Hux into bed: leaving him on his back, on top of the covers. As quiet as he can, Ben sets the bucket down and turns the plush blanket down. He positions Hux on his side, face as close to the edge of the bed as possible, and arranges the bucket in line with his face before Ben pulls the blanket up to Hux’s waist.

Hux looks oddly serene: his sleeping face is blissfully blank, his bandaged hand is huddled protectively close to his chest, the other curled halfway into a fist near his chin. Ben hesitantly admits that the liquor might have actually done him some good, seeing as instead of obsessing over the elections Hux is currently sleeping like a baby. Hux might regret it in the morning, but at least Ben didn’t have to mind trick him into sleeping again.

As if to prove Ben wrong, Hux’s faces scrunches up in distress briefly, like he’s having a nightmare. Ben isn’t even sure if people this drunk can _have_ nightmares, seeing as he’s never been drunk to the point of passing out, but instinctively Ben feels the need to protect Hux from whatever is troubling him.

If Hux were awake, he’d reject Ben’s help, which makes Ben want to comfort him even more.

Ben sits gingerly on the other side of the bed, swinging his legs up so that he’s sitting with his back against the headboard. Hux’s face goes slack again almost immediately, and Ben feels like somehow in his dream-state he knows Ben is here, ready to guard him from whatever may try to bring harm.

Ben takes comfort in the fact Hux’s subconscious trusts him this much. He’ll just stay until he’s sure Hux is asleep and distress-free, then send a quick message to Leia to update her before he himself goes to sleep on the couch again.

He falls asleep before he can do any of the latter.

The biggest irony, however, is that it’s not Hux who has the nightmares that night: it’s Ben.

* * *

Ben wakes from his dream with a start. The fact that he dreamt at all is not a good sign: Ben only ever dreams when the Force wants him to know something. The last dream he can remember was a few nights before his mother’s scandal, and in it he’d seen Leia’s face plastered with the word _‘liar.’_

He saw that very image a few weeks later, on a graffitied campaign poster.

The details of this dream that he can recall are more abstract, more colours and feelings than anything. There was red, there was both ice and fire, and there was pain. But most confusing was—dare he say it? Was that really what he’d felt in the dream?—love.

Remembering where he is, Ben casts a glance to his left and sees Hux, still sleeping peacefully. Bastard. From what Ben can tell through the pale slivers of light being cast between the curtains, the sun has barely risen and here he is, awake from a nightmare, while Hux sleeps soundly.

Though, Hux probably deserves the rest more than he does.

A chirping sound from the other room catches his attention, and he recognises it as his commlink. _Kriff, I never did get to send that message to Leia._ Ben tiptoes out of Hux’s room and shuts the door behind him, collecting his commlink from the shirt that he scoops up from the refresher floor. Waiting until he’s sat comfortably on the couch, Ben answers the call and is greeted by the bright, shining face of his padawan materialising above his small device.

“Master.” Jaina grins. “Did I wake you? What time is it where you are?”

“I’m still on Hosnian Prime,” Ben clarifies. “It’s”—he glances at the chrono—“just after sunrise here. You caught me just as I woke up.”

He won’t mention the dream to Jaina. Not yet; she knows what it means when Ben dreams. She is much the same, except she dreams far more frequently and usually about tamer, smaller events.

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, and takes in his appearance. “Are you with Sen— Well, I suppose I can’t call him that anymore. Are you with Hux?”

Ben narrows his eyes suspiciously at her. “Yes, I am. Where are _you?”_

“Still on Yavin 4, making preparations to leave soon.” She shrugs one shoulder, as if this information isn’t of consequence. “Did you spend the night with Hux?”

“Jaina,” Ben scolds. “This is not appropriate conversation.”

“What?” Jaina plasters on her most innocent smile. “I’m just asking if you spent the night with him. You’re obviously not on the _Executor_ right now.”

Ben ignores her bantering. “I assume you’re leaving for D’Qar soon, then?”

“Soon,” Jaina confirms. “Probably first thing in the morning. There were a few things Master Tanma wanted to complete before we left.”

“Good.”

“Will you join us?”

Ben nods. “In a few days, probably. Hux is...he’s not in the best shape right now. He can’t be alone, he needs someone to watch over him, at least for a few days. I’ll stay with him until then.”

“Or,” Jaina says in a tone that is far too casual, “you could bring him, too.”

“What?”

“He’s been to base, he knows where it is and what it looks like. He’ll be greeted with open arms there.” Jaina’s eyes flash with sincerity. “I don’t think Hosnian Prime will be too welcoming for him anymore.”

Ben...hasn’t even considered that until now.

“You might be right. And bringing him to D’Qar doesn’t sound like a bad idea; he’ll be in need of a job now, anyway. Leia would love to have him in the Resistance, I’m sure.”

“It’s...it’s not the best situation, and I’m sure Leia would have wanted this to be under better circumstances, but it’s a good chance to get Hux safely away from the Core and to finally bring him into the Resistance—officially.” Jaina smiles, but it doesn’t seem playful: instead, it seems sad. Too serious. “Funny, I did tell you that you’d be spending more time with Hux soon.” She looks over her shoulder at something on her end of the call. Ben can vaguely hear Jacen and Enyo’s voices in the background. “I need to go, Master, but I will see you on D’Qar soon.”

The call clicks off. Ben simply sits there for a moment, staring at his commlink, considering his next plan of action. _How_ could he convince Hux to leave his apartment behind and come with him to D’Qar?

“I don’t need your pity,” Hux sneers from his bedroom door, startling Ben. He hadn’t heard the door slide open.

“I...uh, sorry, Hux, did I wake you up?” Ben asks lamely, looking up to face him.

Hux glares at him, though the effect is somewhat off put by his sleep-mussed hair, tired eyes, and pajamas. Ben would find it funny if he wasn’t afraid of what Hux might do next.

“I must seem like some joke to you Jedi,” Hux spits, his upper lip curling up. “Poor little Armitage; lost his job, so he needs our help. He needs Ren to protect hi—” Hux’s eyes widen in realisation for a second before the ire returns to his features. “ _You_. This whole thing is your fault. It was the transaction that _you_ coerced me into that was Severi’s evidence.”

Ben stands, rounding the table, and approaches Hux with his hands out like he’s trying to calm a frightened animal. “Hu—”

Hux doesn’t let him get a single word out. “And now you’re trying to remove me from my _home?_ I’m not a soldier, Ren, I’m a politician! And an _adult,_ I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own damn self!”

Ben opens his mouth to respond, but Hux interrupts him again.

“Don’t you _dare_ say a word, so you can use one of your bloody mind tricks on me,” he snarls. “I don’t need your help, Ren. I won’t be conscripted into the Resistance out of pity. I can fix this; I don’t need to be protected or looked after.” Hux pauses for a second, contemplating, before pointing at his front door. “I want you to leave.”

“Hux, I—”

“Get out!”

The irate stare Hux levels him with would be enough to send a lesser man running with his tail between his legs. Ben immediately knows he’s lost Hux’s trust.

And Hux is a stubborn creature.

Walking over to his satchel, Ben pulls on a shirt in one fluid motion, slips into his boots, and drapes his jacket over one arm before hoisting the bag on his shoulder and making his way to the door. He spares Hux one last glance over his shoulder, but Hux just continues to look at him expectantly.

Ben leaves, makes his way back across Republic City on autopilot. It’s not until he’s back on the _Executor_ that he lets out an angry yell, slamming his satchel against the cargo bay wall with both physical strength and the Force. The poor leather bag explodes, its meagre stitching giving way and leaving Ben with only the handle strap in his hands, his datapad screen cracked, and his spare clothes littered around his feet.

Jaina was right; this was the perfect opportunity to bring Hux into the fold of the Resistance officially, finally. And he’d royally fucked up. Leia would be upset with him. She hadn’t said so, but she’d openly admitted all those weeks ago that she would not object to having Hux join them. But no, Ben had so quickly lost his grip on the plan he’d formulated _yesterday_ and now there’s no chance of that. No bringing Hux to D’Qar, for both his safety and the benefit of the Resistance—and no spending more time with him. Though Ben _should_ feel more upset at the former, he’s more angry about the latter.

Above all, he’s most angry that he hadn’t found out if Hux even remembers the kiss.

* * *

 

Having spotted the _Eravana_ in orbit above D’Qar, Ben isn’t the least bit surprised by the figure awaiting him by his usual landing pad. Ben takes his time cutting the engines and running his post-flight checks before finally releasing the loading ramp, sauntering down it at a leisurely pace as the hydraulics hiss around him. Stopping at the bottom of the ramp, he crosses his arms and smirks at the old scoundrel.

“Your landing approach could use some improvement, kid,” Han says, inspecting the _Executor_ as he approaches Ben. “It looked a bit shaky from where I was standing.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben calls to him. “And who’s going to teach me? You, old man?”

“Who’re you calling old?”

Han stops in front of Ben, and the two of them stare each other down for a beat before breaking into a mutual grin. Ben reaches for his father and hugs him, the pair patting each other on the back once before breaking apart.

“Missed me, kiddo?”

“Pff, never. I always miss Uncle Chewie more.” He looks over Han’s shoulder, noting the absence of the wookiee. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Having a lie down in Kalonia’s infirmary.” Han sits down at the end of the _Executor’s_ boarding ramp, letting out a sigh of relief. “We just flew in from Takodana. I’m pretty sure Maz just tried to poison Chewie with some love potion or something, because he’s suffering from some indigestion or whatever.”

Ben wrinkles his nose and sits down next to Han. “You could have spared me the details.”

“Hey, if I had to deal with a sick wookiee, you’re gonna have to suffer with me.” Han chuckles, and Ben joins him. He has to admit, the thought of the mighty Chewbacca being grounded by some of Maz Kanata’s cooking _does_ entertain him.

“What are you doing here, Han?” Ben asks after their laughter fades.

Han elbows him. “Chewie gets the terms of endearment, but not me?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “You literally told me _not_ to call you papa. You said it ‘makes you feel old.’”

“And you know what? You’re right, stick to ‘Han.’” He grins mischievously at his son.

“You’re avoiding the question, _Han.”_

“Nothing gets past you or your mother, does it?” Han sighs. “Heard about your mother’s prodigy leaving the Senate. I knew she had big plans for him, seeing as he was some kind of bigshot in the government, and figured she could use a pick me up. I brought supplies, intel, and good news.”

_“‘Some kind of bigshot,’”_ Ben mimics. “Yeah, Hux was going to be _chancellor._ The plan was he’d be able to kick us some more supplies, maybe even legitimise the Resistance with enough Senate support. But that’s all down the garbage chute now.”

Sighing, Ben feels a twinge of regret. He shouldn’t have left Hux alone on Hosnian Prime, but Hux made his opinion very clear: he was angry, hurt, and not thinking straight. But Ben felt obliged to comply with his wishes, and he is worried about him.

Ben shakes the thought for the moment, and looks back up at Han. The old man is smirking at him, with some kind of _look_ in his eyes as if he _knows_ something. “What?”

Han shrugs innocently and shakes his head.

“So then, what’s this good news you mentioned?” Ben presses on.

“The good news _is_ the intel.”

Han doesn’t elaborate further, so Ben signals him to continue by gesturing in a circular motion. “And…?”

“Out here?” Han asks, looking around them at the dark, deserted landing pad. “I don’t think Leia would like me discussing confidential information out in the open.”

“Han. It’s the middle of the night. No one comes out here at this hour. _Especially_ to my personal landing pad.”

Rolling his eyes, Han scoffs. “All right mister bigshot Jedi with the private landing pad. If I get in trouble with your mother, I’ll tell her you used one of your mind tricks to pry it out of me.”

“She’s going to tell me, anyway!” Ben huffs frustratedly, but then snickers. “And the fact that a mind trick works on you implies you’re weak-minded. Your words, not mine.”

“That’s no way to talk to your old man!” Han says, mock-scandalised.

“Will you tell me the kriffing intel you gave Leia, or not?”

Han sighs. “Fine. Like I said, Chewie and I just came from Takodana, where I happened to share a drink with a very drunk and loose-tongued entrepreneurial officer of a certain organisation.”

“Maz still has her castle declared as neutral ground?”

“‘Course,” Han says, as if the question offends him. “Nobody has caused trouble yet. She gets twice the customers, _and_ it creates opportunities like this one.” He clears his throat before going on. “This officer was real chummy after a few drinks. Didn’t even notice me slipping the harder stuff into his cup. He then tried to sell me some _‘top-of-the-line’_ jamming tech, developed by the First Order and the _‘best in the galaxy.’_ I told him to prove it to me, and he explained that before he left on shore leave, a spy stumbled upon one of their outposts. Thanks to their long-range jamming, they were able to apprehend _her,_ and block all of _her_ outgoing emergency signals.”

“Leia’s spy,” Ben murmurs. “But how do we know it’s the same one Leia’s lost? How can we tell she wasn’t compromised from the inside?”

Han shakes his head. “We can’t. Not really, anyway. But Leia told me she had all of her spies check in with her in the last cycle, and all reported in except the one. So there’s a good chance.”

Ben chews on the thought a moment. “Leia knows which sector she was operating in. If we can trace possible hyperspace jumps with her last known location, we may be able to find this outpost and from there, a base of operations.” He lets out a single chuckle. “That’s some stroke of dumb luck. You didn’t happen to find any other information from this drunk officer, did you?”

“He was surprisingly tight-lipped about specifics.” Han shrugs. “I only connected the dots because of what your mother told me when I got here.”

Ben nods, then furrows his brows. “Wait, you’re Han Solo. Why would a First Order officer interact with you at all? Surely they know you’re married to Leia Organa.”

Han shrugs. “Didn’t mention my name. Told him I was working for the Death Gang, they’re known to be chummy with the First Order.”

“But you’re... _not_ working for the Death Gang.”

“Kid, haven’t I taught you many times about the benefits of white lies?” Han smirks. “When you’re hauling cargo for Bala-Tik, you’re _technically_ working for the Death Gang. I just left out the...specifics.”

Someone above them clears their throat, startling Han and Ben; they look up at the newcomer with wide eyes, as if caught red-handed. When he sees who it is, Ben exhales and lets out a chuckle.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last part,” Leia says, her lips twisted into a frown. She crosses her arms, observing them down her nose.

“Hey, I got you the intel. You didn’t ask _how_ I got it,” Han points out. “We agreed you won’t interfere in _my_ business if I occasionally pitch in with yours, remember?”

Leia breaks out into an amused grin. “I know. I don’t even _want_ to know about your dealings with scoundrels like Bala-Tik.”

Han stands, levelling Leia with a stern look. “Scoundrels aren’t _that_ bad. You married one, or did you forget?”

“No, because you never let me forget.” She chuckles, and leans up on her toes to plant a kiss on Han’s nose.

“Your _son_ is sitting right here, you know,” Ben remarks, rolling his eyes at his parents. He stands, accepts the hug when Leia comes at him, and wraps his arms around his mother for a moment. “So Han tells me your spy’s capture might not be the result of a leak.”

“Yes, yes,” Leia brushes off Ben’s words while she literally brushes off his arms. “I want to know about Hux. How is he? Did he tell you anything else? Did he stay on Hosnian Prime?”

“And there’s my cue,” Han laments. He stretches his back and pats Ben on the shoulder once. “I’m going to check on Chewie. We need to leave as soon as possible.”

“So soon?”

Han has the gall to look _sheepish._ “Well…the cargo I’m hauling for Bala-Tik? I haven’t actually picked it up yet. I’m on my way now.”

Leia holds up a pointed finger at Han, silencing him. “I don’t want to know.”

“You won’t; I ain’t saying nothing.” Before she can respond, Han gives her a chaste kiss and starts walking in the direction of the infirmary. “Catch you later, kid.”

Ben waves at his father’s retreating form in the dark night around them before turning back to Leia’s expectant gaze.

“Well?” she prompts him to continue, gesturing that they should walk and talk. She starts towards her office.

“He’s staying on Hosnian Prime,” Ben confirms. “I tried to offer him a place here, on the grounds that it would be safer, but he refused. I believe his exact words were _‘I won’t be conscripted out of pity.’”_

Leia groans, rubbing her temple for a moment. “He thinks he can claw his way out of it. He’s too overconfident to accept our help.” She frowns, glances at Ben. “He’s lucky Severi gave him this chance.”

“What chance?”

“To get out unscathed, no questions asked. His reputation is suspect, because of his sudden resignation, but it’s not ruined.” She tsks disapprovingly. “That doesn’t mean he’ll be allowed back; not with Villecham in office, and not so soon after he willingly resigns.”

Ben frowns. “You really think he’d ever be allowed back in the Senate? Because if there’s even a shred of a chance, Hux will probably cling to that hope like a vornskr to its prey.”

“The Senate never forgets, Ben.” Leia sighs. _“Politicians_ never forget. Even when things are publicly forgiven, nothing is ever forgotten. This is all something Hux should _know_.”

“But his dirty laundry hasn’t been aired for the galaxy to see,” Ben protests. “Unlike ours was. Like you said, his reputation is suspect, _not_ ruined.”

Leia stops suddenly, and Ben barely avoids walking right into her. She turns to face him, mouth set in a hard line. “Yes, _suspect._ Hux is treading on thin ice right now, Ben. If he prods at the beast, if he brings too much attention to himself, all his secrets will come rushing out.”

Ben raises an eyebrow at his mother. “Why all the metaphors tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Leia sighs. “I was reading some of your uncle’s old letters after Han left my office. I suppose I miss him particularly tonight, which is why I’m starting to sound like him.”

“I miss him, too.” Ben plants his hands on his mother’s shoulders. “But that is a conversation for another day. Hux?”

Leia stares at him for a moment, scrutinising him. Ben feels exposed, feels like he’s under inspection for something and he doesn’t even know what. But suddenly Leia’s lips twist up into a small, knowing smile—though Ben isn’t really sure _what_ she knows—and she shrugs off his grip, takes his face into her hands. She holds him for another brief moment before patting him once on the cheek, releasing him, and turning to keep walking; Ben follows. Except she’s changed course now: instead of her office, they’re heading to her quarters, which are just a few prefabs away from the ones reserved for Ben.

“Hosnian Prime isn’t safe for him anymore, not while we don’t know the source of the leak. If the First Order knows of his association with us, that makes him a target. But it would be far more suspicious if he were to flee Hosnian Prime immediately.” She pauses, sighs. “Arkanis is not safe either, for similar reasons. At least there is more security in Republic City, which would make it harder to get to him there.”

“So you’re saying we…leave him to his own devices?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Leia continues, a sour note in her voice. “I’ll work on him, Ben. Hux is as stubborn as I am, but fortunately I know how to deal with that kind of stubbornness. Leave that to me. Maybe I’ll send you back to Hosnian Prime in a week or so. For now, you have training to do: Jaina and the others will be here in the morning, and I know her and Jacen are very close to undergoing their trials. Worry about that, I’ll take care of everything else. It will be fine.”

Leia’s confidence makes it seem so easy to believe her, but Ben can’t ignore the nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach since he had the dream.

More than ever he wishes he could talk to Luke, get his uncle’s guidance on this matter, but that’s not an option. He’ll discuss the dream with Enyo and Tanma when they arrive, and perhaps they can meditate on it together. Until then, however, he can’t stop his every instinct from telling him everything will _not_ be fine.

Something is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings (spoilers!): (incorrect) suspicion of suicidal thoughts, physical manhandling via the Force, mind tricks, hinted disordered eating, unhealthy alcohol consumption
> 
> **
> 
> thank you all for the lovely comments, i promise i'll get better about answering them!! and as always, a million thanks to [Gefionne](http://gefionne.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing <3
> 
> ALSO: the incredible [Pangolin Pirate](https://pangolinpirate.tumblr.com/) did [this beautiful art](https://pangolinpirate.tumblr.com/post/166648625906) of Jaina and Jacen!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings in the end notes as usual!

On the ninth day of his unemployment, Hux receives a visit from Korr Sella.

“Korrie,” he greets her, moving aside in the doorway to let her into the apartment. “This is a surprise.”

“Didn’t expect to see me so soon, after yesterday?” she teases, making a beeline for the kitchenette and getting out the supplies to make a cup of tea.

Hux had somehow managed to arrange a confidential meeting with the new Chancellor the previous day, dragging Korrie along with him. Hux isn’t sure what he expected from it, but it hadn’t been as disastrous as he’d feared: after ensuring the meeting would be in total confidence, Hux had explained the whole situation to Villecham, outing himself as a Resistance sponsor. Korrie had been against the idea, but Villecham had been somewhat sympathetic; though he confirmed he would uphold Severi’s decision and not allow Hux back into his role, Villecham _did_ say that if Hux and Korr Sella felt so strongly about the Resistance, he might agree to meet with one of their prominent members to hear them out.

Afterwards, Korrie called bullshit. Hux, on the other hand, felt promise; to his knowledge, this was more than Chancellor Severi had ever done.

“I’m having black tea,” Korrie informs him, bringing his mind back to the present. “You?”

“The same,” he replies. “I’ve got blue milk in the conservator but I don’t think I have sugar, sorry. I know that’s how you take it.”

“That’s fine,” she dismisses, but does a double-take once she surveys the contents of his conservator. “Have you actually been stocking up on groceries? Does this mean you’ve been eating?” She looks at him over her shoulder. “I was worried you hadn’t been—you looked gaunt yesterday.”

Hux doesn’t have the heart to tell her that _he_ hadn’t ordered any of the food in his kitchen; he just hasn’t touched most of it in the week it’s been sitting there. He shrugs innocently while Korrie goes back to brewing tea, actively avoiding thinking about the person who _had_ left all that food in his conservator.

A part of him still wants to be angry at Ren for trying to coddle him: Hux is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, even if he _had_ gone a bit overboard with the liquor  — not his fault, seeing as he hadn’t touched any of the hard stuff in over a year. He’d been saving that brandy specially to _celebrate_ his election. But another part of Hux knows, as loath as he is to admit it, that Ren was trying be there for him when he was down.

He’ll have to apologise, he supposes, for kicking Ren out like that, and for his drunken behaviour — even if he barely remembers most of it.

The kettle beeps, informing them the water is ready. Korrie pulls out two cups like she owns the place, and throws the teabags into them. Making himself useful, Hux pours the boiling water over the dried leaves while Korrie gets out the milk for her own tea. Once their drinks are ready, they take a seat at the counter on opposite stools.

“I’ve been thinking about the meeting yesterday,” Korrie starts.

“Did you change your mind about Villecham, then?” Hux asks.

She snorts and takes a sip of her tea. “Hardly. I think he’s still riding the high of unexpectedly defeating you and winning himself the highest seat of office. He won’t meet with Leia, or with any Resistance member — he just wanted to placate you into thinking he was actually taking your issue seriously.”

“Do you really think so little of _Chancellor_ Villecham?”

“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly, “because I’m tired of watching the people trying to do the right thing getting ejected from the Senate. I’ve been thinking, and between the meeting yesterday and the events of last week? I’m tired of it all.”

“K-Korrie,” Hux stammers, his tea completely forgotten. He’s never heard her express frustrations like this before. “Are you saying— what about your campaign?”

“It’s not registered yet, and I don’t plan on filing it.” She takes another sip, as if the tea bolsters her courage, and continues. “I’m joining the Resistance.”

Hux can only gape at her in surprise.

“I reached out to the General last night, and she called me back this morning. We spoke about it, and I’m going.”

“You’re— join— going…the _Resistance?”_ Hux sounds like he’s never heard of the group before, even though his very involvement with them is what put him in this situation in the first place.

“Yes,” Korrie confirms. “I won’t run for election only to be thrown out when I try to do what’s right, just like you and Leia were. I can’t stand by anymore and watch while the Senate ignores the growing threat of the First Order.”

“Korrie,” Hux pleads, “your heart, your morals, your _brains_ — that’s exactly the kind of person we _need_ in the Senate. That’s exactly why you _should_ stay and run for office!”

“I’ve made my decision, Hux. I’m going.”

Hux holds her gaze for a moment, grasping at straws. “But…you’re no soldier. The Resistance is a military organisation.”

“So is the First Order, according to the Senate. And it takes more than soldiers to wage war. You of all people should know that.” Her eyes harden and she suddenly looks far older than she is, speaking with wisdom beyond her years. “I’m sorry if that’s too hurtful for you to remember, Hux. But obviously something stayed with you all this time, because why would you be helping the Resistance at all if you didn’t think the First Order was a threat?”

He’d almost forgotten Korrie knows where he _really_ comes from. They’d been working together so long, first under Leia  —he as an aide, she as an intern— and then in his own office, that it was easy to forget the real reason she knew him so well was because she knew the _truth._ Esmelle never knew the full story; not because Hux didn’t trust her, but because by the time she joined their little team Hux liked to pretend he himself had forgotten about the Unknown Regions.

“Don’t stay here,” Korrie beseeches him. “Don’t stay here and wallow for a Senate that doesn’t mourn your loss, Hux.”

“Then what should I do with my life, hm?” Hux snaps, unsure why he’s losing patience.

“You could follow in Esmelle’s footsteps. Go back to Arkanis, like she returned to Shili, and keep working towards our old goals,” she suggests. “Minister Leonis would take you on in a heartbeat. Or...you could come with me. Join the Resistance, and fight the real fight.”

He stares hard at her for a moment. “Did Leia put you up to this?”

“She may have mentioned it. But she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already think for myself.” Korrie straightens then, her expression becoming serious. “Leia is sending someone to bring me to base. I leave tomorrow. And I really, really think you should come with me, Hux. Not because the General ordered me to bring you, but because I think we need you.”

Hux purses his lips, staring at Korrie as he considers her words.

“I’m leaving my apartment at 0500 hours tomorrow morning,” she continues. “If you meet me there, we can head to the old warehouse and meet up with this pilot together. We’ll go to wherever the Resistance is hiding, and get back to work on what _really_ matters.” She speaks with finality, as if not expecting Hux to respond.

He doesn’t.

Korrie crosses over to his front door and turns to look back at him. “I do hope I see you in the morning.”

She leaves then, leaving Hux fuming with his now-cold cup of tea. First Ren, now Leia and Korrie? Why was everyone so intent on having him leave his home, to leave everything he’s built for himself behind for a place into which he’s not even sure he’ll fit?

In the end, Hux doesn’t go. In the end, he spends the night tossing and turning, wondering how in the span of a week he’s lost practically everyone close to him, and if the choice he’s making is truly worth it. However annoyed he is, Hux can’t bring himself to stay mad at any of them; not at Ren, not at Leia, not at Korrie. He may be stubborn, but he’s not blind enough to the fact that they’re simply trying to offer him solutions.

At 0500 hours the next morning he stands on his balcony, watching the grey sky beginning to pinken, and imagines Korrie looking at her speeder with disappointment. He imagines her loading her bag onto the passenger seat and cutting it through Republic City to the old warehouse, a route they both know all too well. He imagines her greeting whatever pilot has been sent to retrieve her (in his mind’s eye he sees Poe Dameron, unwilling to entertain the idea that Ren is on planet and _not_ coming to see him), boarding some old, beat-up light freighter, and setting off for D’Qar.

The sun is high in the sky by the time he heads back inside.

* * *

Three days after Korrie leaves, Hux turns thirty-four.

Hux hardly ever remembers his own name day; he’s not even sure if it’s his real one, seeing as he never celebrated it before coming to the New Republic. The only reason he remembers this year is the event reminder that pops up on his datapad: a reception that Esmelle pencilled into the office’s calendar, with the location listed not as their old chambers but the bigger, fancier space of the Chancellor’s offices. No doubt Esmelle cancelled all the arrangements the night of his resignation, but the fact that she had planned such an event at all hits Hux hard.

He finishes all the liquor in his apartment that night. Between what was left of the second bottle of brandy and the random assortment of half-empty bottles of wine, Hux wakes up the next morning on his refresher floor with the worst migraine he’s ever had. It’s that physical pain and emotional emptiness that stirs Hux to finally acknowledge the truth he’s been ignoring: Esmelle was right, Korrie was right, _Ren_ was right.

He needs to leave Hosnian Prime.

As soon as he’s able to heave himself off the tiled floor and take a long drink of water, he gets to organising and packing up his belongings. Not that he has many: because his furniture is rented, the bulk of his possessions are his extensive Senate wardrobe. His books are all stored in holo-form on his datapad, and he’s never been sentimental enough to keep trinkets. He has only one, squirreled away underneath the cushioning of his cufflink box.

He hasn’t even looked at Rae’s dog tags since he put them there.

It doesn’t take him long to pack up a trunk and arrange for it to be shipped to Arkanis. The delivery droid who picks it up cheerfully chirps a tracking number at him, along with an estimated date of delivery and a _‘How else can I be of service, sir?’_

Hux dismisses the droid. He’ll take the rest of his belongings with him when he travels, but he can’t quite bring himself to book passage to Arkanis. Not tonight.

He feels the strange urge to be among people tonight — not necessarily socialising, but to just...not be alone. He knows there’s a small bar a few streets away from his building and decides a little hair of the dog wouldn’t hurt the dull ache still remaining in his skull. He’s never been to this particular establishment, seeing as it’s much too close to his home. He wanted to avoid being seen by tabloids, and he’s always preferred the bars out in Darropolis, but if he really is leaving Hosnian Prime he sees no harm in going there now.

Managing to pull himself into a presentable state, Hux dresses in the most casual ensemble he’s ever worn out in Republic City: plain pants, a loose long-sleeved shirt, and a light jacket. Ironically, it’s the same outfit he wore while travelling to D’Qar; he hopes that it’s low-key enough for him to go unnoticed, since most of the public know him by his opulent Senate robes.

The crisp dusk air feels good in his lungs as he steps out onto the street, especially now that he’s finally out of his apartment. As he walks, mostly sticking to the shadows and keeping his head down, the pain of his headache lessens and he sighs in relief. He is, fortunately, not even spared a second glance by the other pedestrians, and he makes it to the bar in peace. It’s not so busy as to be crowded, but busy enough that no one looks up as he settles at a table in the corner.

_Table_ is really an overstatement, seeing as the piece of furniture is more like a glorified kitchen stool and would barely fit more than three glasses, but it’s still a table, and there are still two chairs around it. And he gets it all to himself, which is a bonus.

A zeltron waiter slinks up to his table after a few moments, and if he recognises Hux he mercilessly neglects to mention it. Hux picks up the flimsiplast menu and orders the drink at the top of the specials, something called a _Binary Sunset._ He watches as the trandoshan bartender whips up the drink, and what the waiter sits in front of him is a colour-changing cocktail: the liquid blends from purple to pink to orange and has two round, yellow berries floating in it. It’s somehow the perfect blend of sweet and tart, and Hux regrets never having come to this bar before; he’ll have to bribe the bartender for the recipe in the hopes of recreating it on Arkanis.

Not that Scaparus Port is all that lively when it comes to nightlife. Maybe he could try his hand at mixing it himself. Hux snorts into his drink at the thought: trading politics for life as a bartender?

Admittedly, it’s not his worst option at the moment.

He sips at the _Binary Sunset_ slowly, oddly at peace for the first time in a few days. It’s nice to be out of his apartment —perhaps he’d been starting to go a bit stir-crazy— and even though the bar is not his kind of usual haunt, it’s a nice alternative all the same. The only sounds around him are the murmur of conversations in various languages, the bartender shaking up drinks, and the soft tunes of whatever music is popular right now. Hux doesn’t try to attract attention to himself, content to simply observe and just _be._

It’s times like these in which Hux appreciates this melting pot of species and cultures from across the galaxy, all united under the reigning peace. It reminds him of why he joined the Senate in the first place: to help maintain the peace, and to bring it to those who do not yet get to enjoy it. Now, especially, this moment reminds Hux that there’s still work to be done.

Hux signals the waiter, intending to order another drink, but instead a stranger sits down, _uninvited,_ at Hux’s table. The stranger is in all black: a high-collared and long-sleeved tunic-dress, leggings, and of all things a heavy, hooded _cloak_ pulled up to mask most of her face—aside from a smirk on pale green lips.

“Good evening, Mister Hux,” the stranger greets him.

The waiter finally saunters over, but instead of ordering another drink Hux hands him a credit chit to cover his bill; he’s in no mood to socialise tonight. The stranger waves the waiter off when he turns to her, leaving Hux alone with her.

“Good evening,” he responds politely. It’s only his public persona that keeps him from being rude and leaving without a word. “I apologise if you came over to speak to me. I was just leaving.”

“No, you weren’t,” she responds, waving her hands as if to stop Hux from moving.

He resists raising an eyebrow at her and instead makes to get up. “I was, actually. Have a good night.”

The stranger purses her lips, disappointed. “Had a long day? Of doing nothing, since you are currently without a job?”

Hux freezes halfway off his seat, narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth. The _gall_ of this person.

“I’ve come a long way to speak with you, Mister Hux,” she says arrogantly, and pushes her hood out of her face.

The stranger is a kage, her pale green complexion and bright gold eyes the only thing setting her apart from any other human in the room. Because Quartzite never officially joined the New Republic, Hux has met few kage; though their world _does_ have formal diplomatic ties, the kage rarely venture out of the Inner Rim. Hux is now, reluctantly, curious as to what this stranger has to say, even though his gut is telling him to _leave, leave right now just_ go.

“What were you hoping to address?” Hux asks, feigning some boredom — best not to let her know she’s piqued his interest. He doesn’t settle back into his chair, not yet.

“First, my deepest condolences for the events of the other week, Armitage.”

Hux flinches slightly at the use of his first name. He wonders if it really is worth staying for a few more minutes. “If you’re here to get any information out of me, you won’t. Everything you need to know is in my official statement.”

“Oh no no, that’s not why I’m here at all.” She gives her head a little shake, jostling her tightly tied-back hair. “I think the Senate is at a disadvantage without you. I think so, and my employers think so.”

“Your...employers?” The conversation is starting to feel like some shady employment pitch. He frowns.

“Yes,” she nods. “And we think it’s a pity that whatever you might be up to next, you would be wasting your potential. Unless, of course, you came to work for _us.”_

It’s _definitely_ time to go. “I appreciate the flattery and the offer, miss...I’m sorry, I never got your name. But I really should be going now. Please thank your employers, whoever they —”

“You know who they are,” she interrupts, the smirk back on her face. “It’s time you came _home,_ Armitage.”

Hux feels his body turn to ice, feels the blood drain from his face. His stomach doesn’t even flip, it _drops —_the feeling is so disorienting he has to sit before he falls.

“No,” Hux breathes out, shaking his head.

The stranger’s smirk has turned into a menacing grin, teeth-bared and all. “You didn’t think the First Order forgot about you, did you?”

“No,” Hux repeats more forcefully. He needs to _get out of here,_ _now._ He gets up, his legs shaking but stable. “I’m leaving, and in case you don’t want to cause a scene or attract unwanted attention, I suggest you don’t do anything to stop me.”

“You want to stay,” she says, fixing him with a stare. She moves her hand in an awkward gesture.

Hux shakes his head. “No, I don’t. Goodbye, it was _not_ nice to meet you.” He puts his head down and starts walking away.

“A pity you won’t join us, Armitage,” she calls after him. “The Commander had thought you would be a good addition to the General’s team. She’ll have to find another way to appease the General now.”

If she says anything else, Hux doesn’t hear: he quickens his pace and moves out of earshot, moves back through the bar, holding his breath until he’s back on the street. Even outside, he breathes slowly, quietly, as if the wrong movement would put him in danger. He scans the crowds around him, making sure there’s no one watching him—or worse, making sure there are no white betaplast helmets he’s spent so long trying to forget. Not that any First Order agent would bring stormtroopers to a New Republic planet; but the thought irrationally crosses his mind anyway. Instead of slinking into the shadows, like he did on his walk here, Hux dives straight into the throng of pedestrians, keeping his head down and avoiding the annoyed glances of the few people he displaces to force his way through the crowd.

He walks in the opposite direction of his apartment, constantly checking over his shoulder: he wouldn’t be surprised to find the kage or someone else following him, and he resolves to take the longest possible route home. He wends his way around this neighbourhood of Republic City, steering clear of the block where the bar is located but looping around other blocks in the hope of throwing off anyone who might be trailing him.

Subtlety has never been his strong suit, and for the first time Hux finds himself wishing that he was a spy, not a damned politician. Perhaps then he might know how to properly escape this situation.

Despite the cool night air, Hux is sweating profusely by the time he reaches his building. His hands are clammy and clenched into fists to hide his trembling fingers; his breath is shaky, and his stomach is twisting into knots at the prospect of being followed, of having failed to be covert enough. He rushes into the turbolift, slamming the close-door button despite his ithorian neighbour rushing at him and asking him to wait. Hux taps his foot the entire ride up, and all but runs down the hall when he gets to his floor.

As soon as his apartment door closes behind him, Hux pants shakily and leans his back against it. His legs are trembling so much he worries he might collapse right here on his front step — and if he does, no one is around to pick him back up. Closing his eyes, Hux takes a few deep breaths, counting to five with each inhale and exhale, calming himself and steadying his legs.

He needs to contact Leia.

She’ll need to know that a First Order agent is _here_ on Hosnian Prime, and moreover tried to _recruit_ him. Hux both flinches at the thought of going back to _them_ and curses himself for not asking more: he could have collected some vital intel for the General.

_You’re a politician,_ he reminds himself, _not a trained reconnaissance operative. Focus._

Pushing off the door, Hux first checks every corner, every cabinet, under all the furniture in his apartment — if they traced him to the bar, they must have followed him from his building. Which means they may even know which apartment is his. The thought is disconcerting: his own home is no longer safe for him, and by extension, neither is Hosnian Prime.

He should have bought that ticket to Arkanis instead of going out tonight.

He sweeps through the apartment, focusing on the task of making sure there are no surprises waiting for him; he finds no one (though he’s not sure what he would do if someone _was_ waiting for him) and no spying devices or bugs. It’s not all that comforting, seeing as he doesn’t trust his rudimentary search, but it’s enough for now.

Hux sits down on his couch, setting down the his little comm disk on the table in front of him. He should call Leia; he should tell her immediately about this encounter; he should inform her there’s a First Order operative currently on Hosnian Prime and to have her spies on the lookout. But at the same time, Hux needs someone to help him calm down, to reassure him he’s safe, to protect him. Leia could very well offer these things —in fact she definitely _would;_ not herself but through the Resistance— but instead of calling her, Hux sets his comm unit to contact someone else.

It takes a minute, but eventually Ren answers the call — a hologram of the upper half of his body appears above Hux’s table, and by the headset and his position, Hux can tell he’s in a cockpit. Hux barely resists a smile at the sight; he was briefly worried Ren would be angry with him for kicking Ren out and not answer the call.

“Hux! What is it, what’s wrong?”

Hux feels a prick of annoyance at the notion that he only calls when something might be wrong, but he’s too shaken up to muster his usual snark. “Does something have to be wrong for me to call you?” Hux says, his voice breathy and shaky, betraying the lack of enthusiasm behind his words.

Ren takes notice immediately and his eyes flash with concern. “Are you all right? What’s happened?”

Hux shakes his head. “I’m a bit shaken is all — nothing has really happened. Yet.”

“Yet?” Ren’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I had an...encounter this evening. A First Order agent tried to make contact with me.”

“Pfassk,” Ren mumbles, running a hand over his face.

“That was my sentiment exactly.”

Ren leans out of view of the holo-camera, reaching for something. There are a few clicks on a panel, a few responding beeps from the ship, and the sound of some switches being flipped.

Hux frowns. “What’s happening? What are you doing?”

“Adjusting my hyperspace route,” Ren answers, flicking another switch and turning back to the comm. “As luck would have it, I was already on my way to Hosnian Prime. I’m adjusting my route to get there faster — the old girl should be able to handle it,” he adds, patting the dashboard with fondness.

Hux scoffs teasingly. “Luck? There’s nothing to do with luck for you. It’s all the Force.”

Ren grins, and Hux relaxes a little: Ren is on his way; Ren isn’t mad at him; Hux is safe.

“I can’t say that’s not true.” Ren’s smile fades as he gets serious. “Hux, prepare a bag. I’m taking you away from Hosnian Prime, whether you want to or not. If the First Order has made contact, there’s a chance they might try again. With a different tactic.”

Hux swallows. “Yes, I thought...something similar.”

“Really?” Ren’s eyes widen before he schools his expression again. “Uh, good. That makes this easier. Lock your door, don’t answer it for anyone until I get there. I’ll take you to D—”

“No!” Hux interrupts, casting a glance over his shoulder, again thinking of his crude sweep for bugs. “No, what if they follow us? We need to go somewhere safe but…unclassified.”

Pursing his lips, Ren considers it for a moment. “Right, okay. You’re right. Just...be ready? And like I said, don’t answer for anyone. I’ll contact Leia and let her know what’s happening. You can reach out to her once we’ve got you in a safe place. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll be ready,” Hux confirms. He attempts a smile, which ends up being a feeble thing in his current state. “Thank you, Ren.”

Ren regards him for a moment, then nods. “See you soon,” he says before shutting off the call.

The next few hours feel like some of the longest of his life — which is saying a lot, given that Hux has firsthand experience with _several_ filibusters. He triple-checks the locks on all his doors and even locks himself out from his beloved balcony. He doesn’t sleep, instead taking the time to pack essentials and a few casual clothes in a small bag. He paces around the small apartment on loop, constantly glancing at his windows as if making sure he’s not being watched. The thought is ridiculous since he’s on the three-hundred-and-sixth floor and no one could get this high in a regular speeder, but he’s on edge; there’s too much adrenaline coursing through him to sit still right now.

The sun is high in the sky the following morning before his comm chimes with a message from Ren, informing him that he’s getting into the turbolift. Hux crosses over to his front door when he hears the buzzing entry request, but he checks the security cam to make sure it’s Ren and not someone else outside his apartment.

When he sees Ren’s large frame, the top of his head cut off by the security cam’s angle, he keys open the door and, atypically, feels his posture slouch slightly in relief. He wants to hug Ren for coming all this way, for being here when Hux needs him, despite the way Hux had treated him the last time they saw each other.

Instead, he moves aside and lets Ren push past him into his apartment.

“Are you ready?” Ren asks in lieu of a greeting. He’s carrying an empty rucksack and crosses over to Hux’s kitchenette.

“Ready to leave? Yes,” Hux answers as he follows Ren, giving him a confused look. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t have any food on the _Executor,”_ Ren explains, “so I thought I could take some of yours so that we don’t have to stop for supplies.”

“That...makes sense, I suppose.” Hux opens the conservator and a few of his cabinets. “Help yourself. All the foodstuffs in my kitchen are what you ordered last time, anyway.”

Ren frowns at Hux, but doesn’t comment. He turns to the conservator first, selecting things to put into his bag. “Are you okay?”

“Better now,” Hux says before he can think about it. “I wasn’t— I was a bit shaken, which I suppose I still am, since I’m not exactly...equipped for this sort of thing. But I feel better now that I’m not alone.”

“Right. Have you told anyone you’re leaving?” Ren asks, moving onto the cabinets and shoving some of the nonperishable foods into his rucksack.

“No. Why should I?”

Ren sighs. “The _Executor_ is unregistered passage off this planet. If no one knows you’re leaving, they may think you’ve disappeared or been abducted  — they’ll start an investigation, and I doubt you’ll want that kind of attention given recent events.”

Hux frowns, reluctantly realising Ren is right.

“It doesn’t have to be an important call,” Ren continues, “just message Korr Sella and tell her you’re...going on vacation or something.”

“Korrie is gone,” Hux says automatically.

Ren pauses in his packing. “Gone? Where?”

“To the Resistance. She left a few days ago. You didn’t know? You weren’t the one to come fetch her?”

“No. I didn’t know, because I was on Yavin 4.” Ren shakes his head and flashes him a quizzical look. “And I’m no transport pilot or errand boy, why would _I_ come all the way here to take her to Leia?”

_Because you came all the way here to take_ me _to D’Qar,_ Hux thinks but doesn’t say. He feels a kind of inappropriate satisfaction at the thought he’s received special treatment from Ren.

“I don’t know, I thought you might have,” Hux says innocently.

“Okay. You still have to tell someone, though,” Ren insists. He closes his rucksack and waves Hux towards his own bag. “Message them from the speeder; we should get going. I don’t sense any danger, and I didn’t notice anyone suspicious on my way in, but I don’t want to take chances.”

Hux shoulders his bag and nods. He’ll message his landlady — he was going to have to message her anyway, when he eventually booked passage and left for Arkanis. He’ll just tell her exactly that.

Ren checks the hallway before ushering Hux out of the apartment and towards the turbolift. As they board it, the very same ithorian that Hux encountered last night shouts after them.

“Hey! Son of a bantha, don’t close the lift on me again!”

“You don’t want to get on this turbolift,” Ren says casually, his hand subtly waving at the ithorian.

He stops in his tracks. “I don’t want to get on that turbolift,” he repeats dully.

“You want to wait for the next one.”

“I want to wait for the next one.”

Ren smirks. “Thanks, hope the wait isn’t too long!”

The turbolift doors slide shut and they start to plummet down to the ground floor.

“Are...are mind tricks really so easy?” Hux asks. “That looked so...effortless. So simple.”

“It depends on the person.” Ren shrugs. “Some people are stronger-minded. A simple mind trick like that wouldn’t work on them. Even then, those with strong enough minds can’t easily be tricked — Tanma and I are the only Force-users I know to have success on those types of people.”

“Have you ever…” Hux almost doesn’t want to ask, but he can’t stop himself now. “Have you ever tried that on _me?”_

Ren winces.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“Well, no. I mean, yes...well, kind of?” Ren splutters. “You’re very strong-minded, Hux. Too strong for Tanma.”

“But not for you?” Hux challenges.

With a sigh, Ren looks Hux squarely in the eye. “I may have used the Force to coerce you into going to bed the last time I was here, but that was because you were exhausted and refused to acknowledge it. I’m sorry for doing so—I know it was inappropriate—but at the time I just wanted to help you sleep. Okay?”

The turbolift stops, barring Hux from answering. Ren starts at a brisk pace as soon as the doors open, glancing behind him every few meters to check that Hux is following.

Ren leads Hux to his speeder and goes around the other side to load the bags and to give Hux the space to climb in. Hux watches Ren clamber into the driver’s seat, start up the speeder, and pull it into traffic. He stares at Ren’s hands on the steering wheel, remembering the gesture Ren did at the ithorian.

“What?” Ren asks, noticing Hux’s stare.

“The hand gesture,” Hux responds. “Is that part of the mind trick?”

“It makes it easier to direct the Force at someone,” Ren answers. “Not necessary, but it’s a part of it, yes.”

The kage agent had gestured at him while giving him instructions, just like Ren had to the ithorian. But that meant—

“Is it possible that there are Force-users in the employ of the First Order?” Hux asks as finally looks up from Ren’s hands.

Ren takes his gaze off the skyways for a moment, glancing at Hux wide-eyed before he returns his focus to driving. “Why do you ask?”

“I think the First Order agent I encountered earlier tried to mind trick me,” Hux replies simply.

“Kriff,” Ren swears under his breath. “Well, this just got a lot more complicated.”

“Complicated? Ren, what aren’t you telling me?”

He sighs, flashes Hux a frown. “There are a few things I should tell you about, Hux. But right now I think we should focus on getting the hell off this planet.” He points to the datapad cradled in Hux’s hands. “You have a message to send.”

“Right.” Hux types out a simple message to his landlady and, after he hits send, shuts off his datapad’s holonet connection; he’ll deal with the blowback when they’ve reached wherever Ren is taking him. “Done,” Hux announces as he pockets his datapad in his jacket.

Ren hums in acknowledgement.

“You said you were on your way here when I called you,” Hux says after a few moments of awkward silence.

“I was,” Ren confirms.

“Supply run?” Hux asks, using the same excuse Ren had last time. Hux saw through it before, but chose not to say anything at the time. Now, he parrots Ren’s words in the hope of lightening the mood in the speeder.

Ren shakes his head. “I was coming to see you,” he says shamelessly, not a trace of timidness in his tone.

The sincerity quiets Hux for a moment. “Did Leia ask you to?” he says, unable to help himself. Did Ren really want to check on Hux out of concern for him, or had his mother sent him because Hux had been avoiding her messages?

“Contrary to what you think, Hux,” Ren responds with a touch of annoyance, “I’m my own person, a mature adult capable of making my own decisions.”

“Sorry,” Hux mumbles. He’s just upsetting Ren more. He should just stay quiet.

Ren huffs. “I’m just on edge about this, sorry if I seem angry.” He flashes Hux a half-smile before turning his attention back to driving. “And besides, if it were up to Leia I would have been here six days ago.”

“What?”

“After last time I figured you needed some space.” Ren shrugs. “You were right. You _can_ look after yourself, you don’t need me dragging you offplanet.”

Hux snorts. “What’s this, then?”

“The situation has changed,” Ren says sincerely. “I wouldn’t be doing this unless you were in danger, or you’d asked me to. Which...I guess, are both happening.”

Hux doesn’t tell him he was planning on returning to Arkanis on his own. Let Ren think he’s doubly helping Hux right now.

When they get to the old warehouse, Ren lowers the ramp to the now all-too-familiar _Executor_ and lets Hux board first. Ren sets his rucksack of food down in the living area and points Hux to the cabin.

“You can take my bunk again,” Ren instructs. “Just set your bag down and strap in out here. I want to get going.”

Hux follows his directions, Hux neatly tucks his bag in the locker under Ren’s bunk before settling back into his usual seat. Buckling himself up securely, he calls out to the cockpit to confirm he’s ready for Ren to take off. Within a few minutes, Hux can feel the _Executor_ lifting off the ground, flying out of the hangar, and eventually breaking atmosphere  — there’s a split second in which he can feel them leave Hosnian Prime’s gravity before the ship’s artificial gravity kicks in. Barely three minutes after that, the ship shudders and hums, signifying they’ve jumped to hyperspace.

Ren appears from the cockpit soon after. He starts to unpack and tidy the food he brought from Hux’s apartment in the galley. “You hungry?”

“Not really,” Hux admits, “but I was up all night and haven’t eaten since...yesterday? So I probably should eat something.”

Ren pours himself a cup of something from his conservator and helps himself to some food. “Help yourself, it’s, uh, your food anyway.”

Hux has to suppress a chuckle at that. Hadn’t he told Korrie the other day that the food in his kitchen _wasn’t_ his, since he hadn’t been the one to order it?

“So,” Hux asks as he surveys his food options, “where are we headed?” Not finding anything particularly appetizing, Hux settles on a protein bar.

“Yavin 4,” Ren answers between bites of pickled pikobi egg.

That makes sense. It’s safe, and well-known across the galaxy that the Jedi are there; and if First Order intel knew the Jedi were on Yavin 4 years ago, before Hux even left, then by now it is _definitely_ not classified information. It’s exactly what Hux suggested: safe but not secret.

“It will be nice to see the moon again,” Hux says as he chews on the protein bar.

Ren glances at him, frowning.

“What?” Hux asks.

“Hux...you should know, before we land...Yavin 4 isn’t the same as you remember it to be.”

Hux tilts his head, curious. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Ren sighs. “Sit down. I told you in the speeder there were a few things I should tell you about. The sooner...the better.”

“Ren,” Hux says as he complies, sitting across from Ren. “You’re worrying me.”

“I always worry you,” Ren teases, but without his usual lightheartedness behind it. He sighs when Hux fixes him with a look and glances away for a moment. When he turns back, his expression is sober. “Have you heard of the Acolytes of the Beyond?”

Hux scrunches his nose, not having expected _this_ question. “Vaguely. They were fanatics of the Force, but not...not the Jedi, the _other_ Force-users. Palpatine’s advisor was one of them, I believe.”

“Yes, Yupe Tashu. And the _others_ you refer to were called the Sith.” Ren makes a face as if saying the word is taboo. “The Acolytes were cultists who followed the dark side of the Force. Not necessarily Force-users themselves, but they believed using Sith relics allowed the Force to flow through them. Before the Galactic Concordance, they wreaked havoc on New Republic worlds; but they disappeared after the Battle of Jakku.” Ren gives Hux a pointed look.

“If what you’re suggesting,” Hux bristles, “is that they came to the Unknown Regions _with us_ I’ll have you know there were no such group while I was there. And I assure you, had a group of religious zealots shown up on the _Eclipse,_ Rae Sloane would have turned them away. She didn’t believe in all that.”

Ren shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to suggest it. But that does answer one thing I have wondered about them.”

“What does all this have to do with Yavin 4?”

“Everything,” Ren says ominously. “Because the Acolytes resurfaced four, almost five, years ago. On Yavin 4. With someone I believe you may have heard of: Snoke.”

The very name sends bile up Hux’s throat.

Ren looks away, casting his eyes down into his mug. He curls his hands protectively around it, as if doing so brings him comfort. “A surprise attack. One we should have seen coming, but none of us did. Can you imagine? A whole group of Force-users, albeit some untrained, and not a single one had foreseen an attack? Not even Luke.”

“What...what happened?”

“A massacre,” Ren whispers to his mug.

Hux furrows his brows in both confusion and concern. “You survived?”

“Funny thing with the Force,” Ren muses, “is that it shows you what it chooses. It sends you where you need to be. That day I wasn’t on Yavin 4.” He looks up. “I was in your office. Enyo, Tanma, and I were meeting Dar.”

Hux gasps.

“Luke sent me because he trusted me to accompany Dar,” Ren continues. “He sent Enyo because he felt I shouldn’t travel alone. Naturally, Jaina and Jacen came with us because wherever we went, they came along. And Luke sent Tanma because he felt that this new addition to the Jedi would become Tanma’s apprentice.” He lets out a single sardonic chuckle. “I was extra rude to you the next time I saw you after that, do you remember? That was when the Senate was on Nakadia and Tanma tangled your cloak around your feet so that you fell into a puddle of mud. Both of us were angry because _you_ had called us away when we should have been defending the temple.” He looks up, flashes an apologetic smile at Hux, and turns his gaze down once again. “I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t your fault at all. You and Dar probably saved our lives, actually.”

Hux _does_ remember the incident. He’d been touring some Nakadian farm with other senators when he’d spotted Ren and Tanma, and almost immediately felt his cloak slithering impossibly around his ankles. _That_ is a conversation for another day, however.

“Did...did anyone else survive?”

“There weren’t many of us to begin with,” Ren says somberly. “Restarting an ancient organisation of Force-sensitives is no easy feat for one man — or two, if you count me, seeing as I was sort of born into it. Luke couldn’t recruit _every_ Force-sensitive being in the galaxy.”

The mention of Luke Skywalker makes something click in his mind. “Oh, stars, please don’t tell me _Luke Skywalker_ didn’t survive.”

“He did,” Ren confirms. “He survived.”

Hux turns his face up to the ceiling and breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s good, then. The galaxy would lose a lot of morale if Luke Skywalker perished.”

“He survived. But he’s missing.”

“What?” Hux swings his head back down so fast he feels like he’s given himself whiplash. _“What?”_

Ren finally faces Hux, holding his gaze. “You’re right about the morale thing, and that’s why we’ve kept it under wraps. Not even that many in the Resistance know about this; they think we’re constantly there to help because Luke has instructed us to. That Leia requested help from her brother. It boosts their spirits to think that the great Luke Skywalker _and_ Leia Organa will lead them to victory.”

Hux’s jaw hangs open at this new information. “You have…no idea where he is?”

Ren shakes his head. “We’re working on it.”

“What about...why he left?”

Something dark flashes in Ren’s eyes and he looks down again. “We’re not sure. We think he may have gone in search of the first Jedi temple to discover why the Force wanted the attack to happen. _I_ think...I think he was ashamed. Afraid of himself.”

“Why?”

“There was...a very dark energy when we returned to the temple. Enyo and Tanma think it’s because of all the death and the presence of the Acolytes and Snoke but...it felt _familiar_ to me. And if the attackers were able to overcome an entire group of Jedi-in-training, what did Luke have to do in order to repel them?” Ren chews on his lip for a moment. “I think he tapped into something dark within himself.”

He fails to elaborate further; for both lack of knowledge of the Force and out of politeness, Hux doesn’t push it.

Ren glances up and he has the audacity to look _coy._ “So...that’s _one_ thing to expect when we get to Yavin 4. No Luke.”

Hux can only stare back in a stupor.

“That...and the fact that the six of us will be the only Jedi there.”

_That_ snaps Hux out of it. “There really aren’t any other survivors?”

“There was one. A young padawan named Kai. They were a moh, like Severi.”

_“Were?”_

Ren frowns, his eyes full of sadness and guilt. “By the time we got back to Yavin 4...the temple’s infirmary had been destroyed and Enyo’s medidroid had no database on moh. We did our best but…they died a few days after we arrived. Enough time to tell us what happened, but not enough for Enyo to pick up more medical supplies.”

Hux has the urge to reach across the table and lay a hand over Ren’s forearm in a comforting gesture. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead.

“There were other groups off-planet that day,” Ren continues, as if he hasn’t heard Hux. “There were three: us, collecting Dar from you; two almost-Knights on a peacekeeping excursion in Wild Space; and a group of four older trainees, helping a village elsewhere in the Outer Rim. When they heard what happened on Yavin 4...they, understandably, didn’t want to return.”

“What happened to them, then?”

“The students never even made it to their home planets; they were intercepted enroute and killed. The Knights vanished. I don’t know if they were killed, forced to join the Acolytes, or are just very good at hiding.”

Suddenly, it all clicks in Hux’s mind.

“That’s why your little group is always travelling together. Apart from your occasional excursions alone, you’re never apart from Enyo, or Tanma, or the padawans. And you only spend time on Yavin 4 sporadically.”

Ren raises an eyebrow and quirks one side of his mouth in amusement. “Figured us out, have you? Go on, tell me why.”

“For safety. You stay together so that you can look out for each other. You try not to spend too much time on Yavin 4 because Snoke knows that’s where you’re based.”

“So why do we go back to Yavin 4 at all?” Ren asks, tilting his head.

Hux considers it for a moment. “You think _politicians_ are superficial. You spend time on Yavin 4 to keep up appearances. The galaxy is large enough that no one would find decreased Jedi appearances suspicious, but if traffic to Yavin 4 ceased completely…”

Ren reaches over the table and taps Hux’s temple with a finger, once, twice. “Welcome back, Hux. I was getting tired of having to explain everything to you.”

“You did _not,”_ Hux scoffs, “have to explain anything to me.”

“Then why did I have to remind you to take care of things back in Republic City, hm?” Ben smirks. “It’s okay, I get it. You were afraid and not thinking straight. Glad to see you’ve got your head on the right way again.”

Hux rolls his eyes but pairs it with a small quirk of his lips so that Ren will know the gesture is out of fondness, not annoyance. They sit in silence: Hux digesting the bombardment of information Ren has dropped on him, while Ren is back to staring forlornly at his mug, as if only just now contemplating the ramifications of telling Hux these things. Or...could he be glad to have them off his chest?

Hux breaks the silence: “Thank you for telling me all this.” Ren looks up, questioningly, so Hux continues, “I’m sure it’s not easy to talk about, and you wouldn’t have told me were we not going to Yavin 4. I’m sorry to...to have made you relive what happened.”

Ren smiles genuinely, not teasingly or sadly. “It’s all right. You didn’t make me relive it. We —Enyo, Tanma, Jacen, Jaina, Leia, even Dar— we feel it every day. Believe it or not, telling you was...cathartic, in a way. I trust you, Hux, and I don’t think you’re going to go off to HNN and sell this story.”

“Well, now that you’ve given me the idea…”

Ren laughs. “All right, the events of the past cycle must be really messing with your head if you’re making _jokes._ I think we should both get some rest.” He stands, takes his mug to the kitchenette and dumps out his mostly untouched caf. _“You_ didn’t sleep last night and _I_ haven’t slept since I left Yavin 4.”

“An excellent idea,” Hux agrees, getting up himself and moving towards the cabin. “Thank you for letting me take the bunk again.”

“It’s nothing,” Ren calls out to him, waving him off. “The matt is less comfortable but more room since I’m out here and not cramped in _there.”_

“Well then. Goodnight, Ren.”

Ren, gulping at some water from the conservator, flashes him a thumbs up dismissively.

Hux lets out a fond huff and shuts himself in the cabin, changing quickly into his sleep pants and a plain, soft tank before slipping into the bed. Though he passes out the moment his head hits the pillow, his mind seems dead set on not letting him rest.

_He is younger, somehow — his body feels small and insignificant compared to the towering black durasteel walls, adorned with red banners, surrounding him. His feet move of their own accord, taking him forward against his will to a solitary figure in black; Hux recognises him without a doubt, even if his hair is grey now and his cap shadows most of his face._

_“Father,” Hux whimpers, his voice breaking like it used to when he was growing up._

_“You shouldn’t have left us, boy.”_

_“I had to! I couldn’t stay, and I won’t come back!”_

_Brendol sneers. “You will. You were useless before, I’ll drag you home and turn you into something to suit the Order’s needs.”_

_Hux starts to tremble, dread pooling in his chest and seemingly drowning him. Brendol opens his mouth again —_

Before he can say anything else, Hux is ripped from the dream, waking to the sound of Ren calling his name. He’s appeared in the now-open doorway of the cabin, his eyes wide with concern as he stares at Hux.

“Are you okay?”

Hux blinks groggily, reaching up to the bulkhead to his right to ground him, to remind him where he is. He’s in the _Executor,_ not on the _Eclipse._ Currently flying to Yavin 4, not in the fringes of the Unknown Regions. He breathes slowly as he repeats these facts to himself. He feels like he’s sixteen again —freshly recruited onto Leia’s staff as an intern— because he hasn’t dreamt like that since then. He adds _thirty-four, not sixteen_ to the list of facts in his grounding mantra.

“Nightmare?” Ren asks after a moment, taking a slow step forward into the cabin.

“Yes,” Hux responds, for the first time realising what Ren is doing here. “Kriff, I woke you. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t. Not...not really. I felt your fear,” Ren explains. “That’s what woke me, not you. Whatever you dreamt about terrified you enough that I could feel it out there.”

“I’m sorry,” Hux repeats lamely. Instead of adding anything, he moves aside to make room for Ren to sit on the bunk.

Ren eyes the spot Hux has made for him warily, but after a moment smiles at Hux and sits down. “It’s all right. We all have nightmares sometimes.”

“I...I don’t often have them. I haven’t had a dream like _that_ in years.”

“So you used to?” Ren prods carefully. “A recurring nightmare of sorts?”

“When I was younger. When I first left the Order, actually.”

Ren makes a thoughtful noise. “Tell me about them?”

Hux has never spoken about the nightmares to anyone, not even when they were happening — probably for both lack of someone to talk _to_ and the irrational fear that telling anyone would make the dreams come true. Hux sees no harm in talking about them now; at least not with Ren.

“About Brendol, mostly. They all started the same: he’d find me, drag me off kicking and screaming —by my hair, like he used to— back to the Unknown Regions, all while calling me an ungrateful bastard. There were two ways the dream ended: he’d either throw me into the stormtrooper program to become a mindless toy soldier, or, even worse, he moulded me into a killing machine to lead them all.” Hux shudders. With the latest nightmare so fresh, the dreams obviously still affect him more than he cares to admit.

Ren simply stares at him, brows furrowed in concern. “Is that why you went into politics instead of the military, when you arrived on Chandrila?”

Hux hums. “Maybe. Maybe not. I wouldn’t think too much into it — dreams are just that: dreams. I’m...I’m sorry I woke you. And scared you, by the looks of it.”

Ren shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. I don’t dream often, but when I do it’s...very vivid. I have a pretty visceral reaction to dreams. They’re…I guess you could say _intense.”_

“Because of the Force?” Hux asks, genuinely curious. Were Force-users so different that they couldn’t even sleep without a reminder of the power coursing through their veins?

Ren nods.

They’re silent for a while before Ren speaks again.

“I know you’re tired and you probably want to sleep, but maybe you should stay up for a little while? I can sense you’re still a bit shaken, even if you don’t feel it. You haven’t had this nightmare in so long, and your mind is still trying to distinguish between reality and...what’s not.” Ren shoots Hux a nervous look. “I can sit with you, distract you, if you’d like.”

Hux would probably refuse anyone else. But because it’s _Ren,_ whose company Hux enjoys and who is so easy to talk to, Hux finds himself agreeing.

As Ren launches into some story about Tanma’s latest invention —and the incidents surrounding its testing, in which Jacen almost lost a finger— Hux is content to just sit there next to him, nestled into the safety of his bunk, his voice warm and enthusiastic. Here, shooting across the galaxy in the _Executor_ , Hux feels safe; untouchable by anyone but Ren.

* * *

Hux must have drifted back into a dreamless sleep at some point (thank the Force for that), seeing as he startles awake when he feels the ship shudder out of hyperspace. Ren is not in the living quarters, so Hux tiptoes out to the cockpit to greet him.

It seems fitting that the first place he travels to after closing this chapter in his life is Yavin 4. A bookend, of sorts: he passed through this moon just after leaving the First Order, and he’s passing through again after leaving the Senate.

He frowns.

But not for long, because the view of the gas giant Yavin takes his breath away, like it did the first time he laid eyes on it: for someone who has spent most of his life either on Star Destroyers, space stations, or planets of solid mass, flying so close to the bright red gas planet feels like an anomaly, like it shouldn’t be possible. It’s no wonder the ancient Massassi and, thousands of years later, the New Jedi Order settled on one of its moons; Yavin 4 is not only remote and idyllic, but it seems to have a secret power, something to remind one of the wonders of the galaxy.

“I know the view is great,” Ren says instead of _‘good morning,’_ “but if you look _outside_ the viewport I’m sure Yavin is much more picturesque than me.”

“Very funny,” Hux deadpans. “Good morning to you, too.”

“It’s just past midday, actually,” Ren corrects him. He points at the chrono on the cockpit’s dashboard. “I just adjusted it to Yavin 4’s cycle if you wanted to adjust your chrono. Then you might want to buckle up, it looks like it’s raining on the moon today — landing will be pretty choppy.”

Hux nods and follows his directions, but silently curses Ren for having a ship with such a small cockpit — he’s getting tired of missing out on the views. But safety _does_ come first, and Hux straps himself into his seat without comment. Which turns out to be a good idea, because Ren was right; the moment they enter Yavin 4’s atmosphere the _Executor_ is rocked with turbulence, enough that Hux grasps his seat tightly, not letting go until the patter of rain quiets and he feels them land softly on the ground.

He’s up and has grabbed his bag by the time Ren emerges after his post-flight checks. Ren then leads them to the cargo bay and lowers the ramp. Hux has to gasp when he notices they’re actually _in_ the pyramid, protected from the weather  — he can see the rain still falling at the grand mouth of the hangar bay.

Enyo and Jaina await them at the bottom of the ramp.

“Hux,” Enyo greets him. “Ben informed us of the situation. I hope the trip was all right?”

“Smoother than aeien silk.” Hux tries his best to plaster on a grateful smile. “R— _Ben_ is an excellent pilot.”

“You’ve never flown with _me,”_ Enyo replies indifferently. She turns to Ren. “Ben? A word?”

Ren nods at her, turns to Hux and gestures at Jaina with his head. Enyo starts to retreat elsewhere within the pyramid and Ren follows.

“I’ll show you to the living area,” Jaina calls out to him brightly. She beckons at him to follow and starts heading to the mouth of the hangar bay. “Master Enyo tells me you’ve been here before, Sena— well, I suppose I should call you Hux, now. Or may I call you Armitage?”

Hux, following the teen, grits his teeth. “Hux is fine. And yes, I have been here once before.” He pointedly glances all around them, at the ceilings and walls of the pyramid. “Though I wasn’t really a welcome guest last time. I never got the chance to look around.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity this time.” When they reach the entrance of the temple, a wide and tall gap in the immense stone walls, Jaina reaches her hand out and two umbrellas float into her grip. She hands Hux one, points through the rain to a small group of prefabs across the landing strip. “Just a short trip through the rain. You...know what an umbrella is, right?”

“Of course.” Hux resists the urge to scowl as he takes the offered object. “I _am_ from a rainy planet, after all.” Though, few people used umbrellas on Arkanis — the rain and wind were much too strong for them to hold up, so most people preferred jackets and ponchos. Hux longs for his poncho right now; the thing is ugly, but he knows it provides him with more than enough protection from the rain.

Jaina shrugs, opens her umbrella, and starts to walk. “You never know. As I’ve heard it, you’ve spent most of your life on ships or indoors.”

Just how much information does Ren _share_ with his padawan?

By the smirk on her lips when Jaina glances back at him, she probably knows he’s unimpressed by how much she knows about him. Rather than complain, Hux silently opens the borrowed umbrella and follows behind her. Halfway across the landing strip, Hux halts in his tracks.

The building he’d first stayed all those years ago — he could have _sworn_ it was to the northeast of the main pyramid. Only now, there’s a yawning, empty space, and even through the rain he can see the trees surrounding it are charred black.

“Master Ben told you what happened here, didn’t he?” Jaina asks sombrely, having stopped and noticed Hux’s gaze.

“Yes,” Hux confirms.

“Is that where you stayed when you were last here?”

Hux just nods.

They stare at the ghost of the building for a long moment before Jaina continues walking and Hux silently follows.

“That’s the refresher,” she says pointing at the first prefab, the smallest one. “There are a few stalls and also two sonics. There’s running water within the temple because, by some miracle, the plumbing still works well enough to collect from the groundwater, so if you really wanted to shower you could do so there.”

They pass another two small buildings, both looking like single rooms made of durasteel sheets, but Jaina neglects to describe them. Instead, she ushers him into the largest construction: the door directly leads to a long hallway with rooms lining one side, and a larger space on the other end.

Jaina removes her boots and places them on the side of the corridor, so Hux does the same.

“Everyone sleeps here?”

“Most of us,” Jaina answers. “Masters Ben, Tanma, and Enyo have their own rooms, those others you saw outside.”

“Ren has his own room?” _And I’m stuck with the children,_ he wants to add but doesn’t.

She shakes off her umbrella, flicking some water in Hux’s face; he’s not sure if it’s on purpose or not. “So you have a nickname for him now?” she asks with a wide grin.

“Something like that,” Hux mutters, setting down his own umbrella. He quickly moves to change the subject. “Is it always this rainy here? It was fairly humid but dry last I was here.”

“No, the wet season is just ending. We’ll have maybe a few more showers in the next few days but otherwise it should be good weather.”

Hux points behind him with his thumb, vaguely in the direction of the colossal stone pyramid. “Surely the temple offers enough shelter from the weather?”

“We have some training rooms inside if necessary,” Jaina agrees, “but we prefer to train outside.”

“And sleeping? Didn’t the Rebel Alliance house its barracks within the temple?”

Jaina taps her temple. “Too loud,” she says simply in a tone that implies she’s talking about neither the acoustics of the temple nor the wildlife.

Of course. Hux mentally kicks himself; she must have lost a few friends that day. They all did. And here he was asking why they didn’t want to sleep in the pyramid itself, when so many must have lost their lives there; Ren hadn’t specified the casualties.

Jaina opens the door of the first room and gestures vaguely at it. “You’ll stay here. Put your bag down, I’ll show you the rest.”

Hux sets his bag on the simple cot in the barren room, now _his_ room, and catches up with Jaina at the end of the hall, passing at least four more rooms lining the corridor.

The hallway ends in a larger room lined with counters, a conservator, and a stove on one side, with a large mat on the other — Hux assumes by the lack of table and chairs that the mat is the sitting and eating area. There’s another exit past the mat, the rain still steadfastly beating against the transparisteel slit in the door.

“This is the kitchen,” Jaina states, bored. “Though you could already tell.”

“It’s…” Hux struggles to think of a descriptor. “Nice. Cosy.”

Jaina shrugs. “We don’t have many needs. This is simple but it does the job. We usually take meals here together, and everyone pitches in with the cooking and cleaning.”

“Speaking of everyone,” Hux says as he turns back to Jaina. “Where is everyone else? Your brother? Master Tanma and Dar?”

“Jacen is either with Master Tanma and Dar, working on some new toy, or messaging one of his many _friends,_ ” she says with a hint of a smirk.

The kitchen door opens with a clatter, allowing the wind to blow some drizzle onto Jaina and Hux, but Enyo and Ren quickly close the door behind them. Enyo shakes off her umbrella, while Ren shakes out his hair because of course _he_ would object to using one.

“Good, Jaina has given you the tour,” Ren comments, removing his boots and leaving them on the doorstep.

“You’re welcome,” Jaina cheerily interjects.

Enyo mimics Ren’s actions and moves farther into the kitchen. “I’ve talked it over with Ben and we came to a decision: we once offered safe haven on Yavin 4 to those who needed it, and we will continue to do so. You’re welcome to stay here on two conditions.”

Hux raises an eyebrow at Ren, who shoots him a ‘just go with it’ look. Hux had been under the impression the idea to bring him here was a plan, not just Ren’s whim — it seems he was wrong, but he doesn’t mention it.

“I truly appreciate it. What are your conditions?”

“One: that you don’t interfere with our training sessions, though I doubt you would. And two: that you do your fair share of work in preparing and cleaning up after meals. We all have our chores.”

Hux nods. “That’s reasonable — it’s only fair that I contribute in some way to thank you for your hospitality.”

Enyo purses her lips in an amused manner. She seems impressed that he’s being such an agreeable guest. “Well, then. Welcome back to Yavin 4.”

* * *

A part of Hux had worried, on that first afternoon, that with little for him to do on the moon he’d grow bored and consumed by his own thoughts. He could not have been more wrong.

On his first full day, he wanders the old Massassi grand temple freely, unlike he was allowed to do the first time he was here. The first level is made up of the hangar bay where the _Ghost_ and the _Executor_ sit together, shielded from the elements. It’s odd to see only two light freighters occupying a space obviously meant for whole fighter squadrons; Hux shivers as the thought crosses his mind, almost as if he’s walking among the shadows of fallen pilots. (He supposes, in a way, he is.) The level directly above the hangar is full of more relics from the Rebel Alliance: various operations rooms, ancient consoles, meeting rooms, numerous star charts, an infirmary. The third level contains vast, empty rooms with large gaps in the walls to allow ample light in  — Hux assumes they’re the training rooms Jaina mentioned. Above them are smaller, quiet chambers, which could either be sleeping rooms or for meditation. The top of the pyramid contains a grand throne room, lit by huge skylights and viewports made of translucent stone. The sheer amount of dust in the room triggers a coughing fit in Hux, signifying how long it’s been since someone else set foot in here.

His favourite find, however, is the room that he assumes used to be the command center of the base. Though the room’s power grid has been disused for so long that there’s not enough power for the entire command center, so Hux spends an entire afternoon attempting to crudely rewire the system to boot up at least one console. He can’t help the shit-eating grin when he succeeds, the practically antique piece of tech humming to life under his hands; he looks around as if to show off, but there’s no one here to witness the fruits of his labour.

Jaina finds him there the next day, determinedly bent over the thing, trying to slice into its system.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her tone half-suspicious and half-curious.

“I need something to do,” Hux explains, eyes still trained on the screen. “But I, obviously, don’t have the access codes to these old Alliance consoles. I need to slice into it if I want to use it, but I’m worried there might be some security alarm or fail-safe installed.”

Jaina saunters over and hovers above his shoulder looking at the screen. “There isn’t. I disabled them years ago.”

Now, Hux has to look over. “Really?”

“Yes,” she says dismissively, then points to a line of code. “That’s the part that tells you it’s disabled. See how it ends in 2 rather than 1?”

Hux hums. He’s impressed.

“I can teach you,” Jaina offers, her smug expression indicating she’s sensed how impressed Hux is. “You’re not bad, but I’m better.”

“I know,” Hux admits, looking back at the console. “I tinkered with your work on the comms encryption. Rock solid.” He sighs. “If my encryption with my credit transactions was anywhere near as good, maybe I wouldn’t be in this position today.”

Jaina hesitates long enough that has to glance up at her. Her expression seems...uncomfortable.

“Move aside,” she says when she notices him watching. “Let me show you a thing or two about slicing.”

He does so, and patiently listens to her lesson for about five minutes.

“Of course, something of this caliber would be so much easier if you knew Binary—”

“Wait,” he interrupts. “You speak Binary?”

“Of course,” Jaina says, almost offended. “You should learn. I think there’s an old manual in here somewhere…” She glances around the room as she trails off, as if she could see right through the heaps of storage cubes and containers.

“For someone your age, it’s incredible how adept you are with technology,” Hux muses.

She grins sheepishly. “Well, these machines are my specialty. Most of what I know is self-taught, and mostly from these old consoles in the temple. I’ve had plenty of time to play around with them in the years since I came to Yavin 4.”

“Fair enough.”

“Shall we continue?”

From then on, whenever her training schedule allows it, Jaina starts spending an hour or two with Hux every other afternoon to talk shop.

Over the next few days Ren is uncharacteristically aloof: besides mealtimes, Hux barely seems him. Though he can’t help feeling slightly disappointed, he doesn’t complain on the rare occasions he does see Ren; he is, after all, a guest here, and he has no idea what kind of day-to-day tasks are expected of a Jedi, let alone one he assumes is their interim-leader. Hux guesses there’s probably a lot of training and other tasks beyond his comprehension, so he doesn’t ask. He fills his days with the console in the control center, trying to learn Binary, and sometimes going on short walks around the main temple compound.

Just over two weeks after their arrival on Yavin 4, Enyo arrives in the kitchen while Hux is eating breakfast and announces that it’s time for them to move on; they’ve been at the temple long enough.

“Where to from here?”

“D’Qar,” Tanma interjects, at Enyo’s elbow as she always seems to be. The padawan are off somewhere, probably having eaten earlier.

“We’ll be spending a week there,” Enyo adds, “more if the General needs us for anything. Missions or supply runs. From there, _we_ will be going to another temple for training  — Devaron or Lothal. As yet undecided.”

Hux doesn’t need it to be spelled out to him: he isn’t included in this ‘we.’

“I’ll be staying on D’Qar, then?”

Enyo nods, her lips quirking up in a small smile of relief as if she’s glad to not have to explicitly say so.

Tanma, on the other hand, is all too happy to. “Yes. No offense, Hux, but you’re not a Jedi. We can’t be dragging you around the entire galaxy. And we can’t leave you here alone, either.”

Hux just nods politely. “I understand. I’ve overstayed my welcome. I don’t even know how to thank you for accomodating me these past two weeks. I’d hate to be a burden. So...thank you.”

Enyo smiles fully then, which is, now that he thinks about it, the first time she’s ever smiled _at_ Hux. Tanma seems surprised he’s so agreeable, but doesn’t say anything else; she nods at him in acknowledgement and leaves the kitchen.

“We’ll be leaving this afternoon. Ben is just about to finish his three days of meditation; you’ll fly with him tonight, after he’s had time to rest.” Enyo smirks as if they have some sort of inside joke. “I’m sure you’d rather travel on the _Executor_ than with all those _kids_ on the _Ghost.”_

That explains where Ren has been; Hux hasn’t seen him, even at mealtimes, in about four days. It probably also explains why Jaina had had more free time to tinker on the console with him, if her master was busy elsewhere.

“We’re hardly children, Master,” Jacen complains, having suddenly appeared in the door. “I’m pretty sure we’re all past puberty.”

Enyo turns to leave, shooing Jacen away as she approaches the door. “Age is a number and has no stake in maturity, Jacen. But right now you need to finish up your usual chores, we’re leaving soon. Let Hux eat in peace.”

After breakfast, Hux returns to the main control room; if he’s leaving tonight, he wants to download some of the files he’s been working with onto his datapad. Hopefully he’ll be able to acquire some sort of console on which he can continue these little projects — even if he returns to Arkanis, the small console in his studio should be able to run most of these files. It might need a little upgrade, but Hux wouldn’t mind tinkering with it anyway.

He loads files onto his datapad until it warns him its memory is full, but he still has a few files to copy over. Hux roots through the old cabinets and storage containers, relics from years past, to see if there might be a stray, forgotten datacube he can use; if not, he can delete a few holo-books he doesn’t need.

He’s elbow-deep in a box of wires and various spare console parts when a pair of voices —the twins— echo down the corridor outside.

“Jess owes me so many credits,” Jacen boasts. “I can’t wait to tell her I’ve won the bet.”

“What bet?” Jaina asks.

“I didn’t tell you?” There’s silence except for the sound of their approaching footsteps, so Hux can only assume Jaina shook her head when Jacen continues. “Oh, well. She reads _Star Chronicle,_ that tabloid? She’s into that stuff, has been since she was at the Academy on Hosnian Prime. She actually believed that publicity stunt thing, and when I told her it wasn’t real, she bet me that — ow!”

Wait... _what_ publicity stunt? Hux curses internally, angry that Jaina cut her brother off so quickly.

“Jacen!” she scolds him. “Master Ben told me that in confidence, if he finds out I told you he won’t be happy!”

Ren...told her something about a publicity stunt. Hux screws up his face worriedly; had he told Ren about the bloody tabloid article and the sham statement Korrie released in its aftermath?

“Okay– stop! I only told her, she won’t tell anyone else, she doesn’t believe me anyway!”

“You just said you’re going to tell her you won! _How_ were you intending on doing that?”

“Well —please let go of my arm— when she sees how Master Ben and —no seriously, your Force grip hurts more than your actual hand— how Master Ben and Hux act together on D’Qar, there’s no way she’ll— ow! Jaina! Stop!”

Alarmed, Hux stands abruptly and rushes to the door of the old control room, glancing first up then down the corridor until he spots the twins: Jaina has her brother gripped around his shoulders in a light chokehold, rubbing her knuckles into the crown of his head, while she stares back at Hux with the fakest innocent grin he’s ever seen. Jacen, meanwhile, struggles to get out of her grip, twisting uncomfortably until he notices Hux and stops, also plastering an innocent smile on his face.

“What are you two up to?” Hux asks, an eyebrow raised.

“Nothing,” Jaina declares in a too-sweet tone.

Jacen uses Jaina’s distraction to force her to release him, invisible hands pushing her to the ground away from him. “Nothing,” he repeats, his voice increasing an octave. “We’re just giving the temple our usual once-over before we leave.”

“Ow,” Jaina deadpans, dusting off the back of her thighs as she stands back up. “Jacen, less power next time? We’re only play-fighting there’s no need to _actually_ hurt me.”

“Me? What about _you?”_

They start to argue over who hurt the other more, bringing up what sounds like years’ worth of sibling fights, and continue down the corridor, having _conveniently_ forgotten about Hux. He watches them squabbling as if it’s scripted  —which it probably is; they look like they’ve almost definitely used this very argument to get out of a situation before— until they reach the stairs and start to descend.

“See you on D’Qar!” Jaina cheerily shouts up at him and then the twins are gone.

Well, he obviously won’t be getting any answers from them.

Not long after he goes back to his work he hears the muted hum of an engine, can feel the duracrete and stone floor at his feet vibrating slightly, but it promptly fades back into silence; that’s the _Ghost_ taking off and leaving, then. Hux returns to rooting through various containers until he finds his prize: a small datacube not unlike the one he’d brought here two decades ago. Once he finishes copying over all his files he pockets both the cube and his datapad, powers down the console, and just sits for a few minutes, at a loss of what to possibly do next.

The temple feels too quiet; his every breath echoes back to him with nothing else to break the quiet.

Once again his mind wanders: just five years ago this temple might have been bursting with life, with activity, but now it’s silent enough to hear his own heartbeat. His upper lip curls up in a sneer at the empty room, and he feels angry — such a massacre was an act of war, was it not? If the Senate knew, if anyone in the New Republic knew, would they finally consider the First Order a serious threat?

With a frustrated sigh, Hux stands and resolves to find Ren, ask him when they’ll be departing.

Hux briefly searches the meditation chambers in the pyramid and aimlessly strolls through the training rooms before he leaves the temple, wandering across the landing strip to the small cluster of buildings. They, too, are empty. The _Executor_ is still in the hangar, so Ren is here somewhere  — Hux collects his rucksack and begins to wander around the fringes of the forest, circling around until he reaches the charred foundations of the old buildings.

“I’m over here,” Ren calls out.

Hux whips his head in the direction of Ren’s voice, spotting him in a clearing a few meters away. He has his back to Hux, observing some large tree with green-yellow leaves; his posture is relaxed, slouched, to go with the loose off-white shirt and soft pants he wears. As Hux approaches, he stands beside Ren to find his face twisted in concentration, at odds with his relaxed body language.

“This tree is Force-sensitive,” Ren declares. “It was grown from a branch of the Great Tree on Coruscant.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Hux says, puzzled at where Ren is going with this line of conversation.

“I’m not surprised. Palpatine destroyed most of the rest of it when he turned the Jedi temple into his palace.” Ren glances at Hux briefly. “Kes Dameron and Shara Bey planted this tree here at Luke’s request. He used to bring those who had trouble connecting with the Force to meditate under the tree — he claimed it facilitated the connection.”

Still confused, but curious enough, Hux presses on. “Does it?”

“That depends on how willing one is to open oneself up to the Force,” Ren explains, “so in a way, yes.”

“Wait, did you say _Dameron?”_

Ren nods. “Poe’s parents. They lived here until Shara passed away, a few years before you came here for the first time. That house”—Ren points over his shoulder at the house that no longer stands—“the one you stayed in, was theirs. I think it was the fact that Luke not only missed them and was also happy to provide shelter to you that he decided to offer up Yavin 4 as a refuge to those who needed it.”

Hux isn’t sure how to respond, so he remains silent.

Ren turns to him fully after a moment. “Sorry, I get— wistful, and sometimes melancholic, after I do these long meditation sessions. Especially when the Force answers a question I didn’t ask.”

“It’s all right,” Hux reassures him, but not fully understanding the cryptic words. He won’t ever fully understand them; not without being able to use the Force himself. “I hope whatever you learned was useful?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Not important right now,” Ren dismisses. “Are you finally ready to go?”

Hux scoffs. “Me? I’ve been waiting for you.”

Ren flashes him a smirk. “I’ve been ready since this morning, I’ve just been waiting for you.” He starts to make his way back across the landing strip, towards the hangar, and Hux follows.

They go through their usual take-off in silence —Hux is torn between hating and taking comfort in the fact that it’s now _routine —_ mainly consisting of Hux getting out of Ren’s way as he does his pre-flight checks. Once they’re in hyperspace, Hux again regretting not being able to watch their departure from the moon, Ren appears in the galley and pulls out two instant meals.

“So Jaina tells me she’s been teaching you how to slice?” Ren asks casually as he heats up the meals.

“Yes, she has.” Hux saunters over and picks up one of the trays —some kind of purple root vegetable and a meat he can’t visually identify— to bring it back over to the table. “Though I do know _how,_ she was simply showing me how to _improve.”_

“She spent a lot of time with those consoles when she first came to us.” Ren sits across from Hux and digs into his meal. “She was very shy back then, unlike Jacen. Her brother makes fast friends with _everyone.”_

“So I’ve heard.”

Ren chuckles around a mouthful of rehydrated vegetable. “She probably, more than anything, wanted to make sure you didn’t mess up her beloved consoles.”

The mention of the twins reminds Hux of his odd encounter with them today.

“Speaking of Jaina, I was wondering…” Hux trails off awkwardly, unsure how to go about asking Ren if he knows about Korrie’s little publicity stunt.

“Yes?” Ren prompts.

“That night, at my apartment?”

Ren nods as if he knows what Hux wants to ask. “You don’t remember anything, I know. I figured that out.”

“Well, that, but…” Hux clears this throat. “I overheard Jacen and Jaina mention a publicity stunt involving... _literally_ involving you and me. Did I— I let that slip that night, didn’t I?”

Ren swears under his breath, but Hux picks up something along the lines of _‘She kriffing told Jacen, damnit.’_

Hux frowns. Ren seems upset at the thought of someone other than Jaina knowing. “I did, then. I should apologise for involving you in that. Though, in my defense, you weren’t named in the statement at all — only those who know we were on Arkanis together would make that conclusion, and that number is small.”

“It’s not that,” Ren quickly amends. “I don’t care about the publicity stunt, I understand it was just fodder for the tabloids. I’m just frustrated that apparently nothing I say in confidence is private anymore.” He sighs. “I only told Jaina because had she found the article herself she wouldn’t have let it go for _days.”_

“I see,” Hux says, even though he’s not sure what Ren means by ‘let it go.’ “I suppose I should also apologise for whatever other heinous behaviour I might have carried out that night.” He finishes up the rest of his austere dinner and throws the plastoid container in the galley’s trash compactor.

Ren chews on another bite, obviously stalling, hesitating, giving Hux ample time to retreat towards the cabin.

Finally, Ren shrugs. “There was nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad I was there to help with your hand, and that you didn’t hurt yourself further.”

“Right,” Hux says lamely. “Thank you, for that. I’m sorry to have put you through that at all. I’ll...I’ll let you finish your dinner in peace.”

“Wait,” Ren interrupts before Hux can escape. “That’s not —kriffing hell what am I doing— that’s not…that’s a lie. There _was_ more.”

“Oh?”

Ren runs a hand over his face, and stands. “You, uh…kriff, how should I put this?” He sighs. “You told me...you told me a part of you wished it were true. And you— you kissed me.”

Hux blushes, _feels_ his face changing colour and heating several degrees. “That...that’s embarrassing, I’m sorry I — I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Ren snaps his eyes up to meet Hux’s, wearing an expression Hux can’t identify. “I don’t...I don’t know if it was just the alcohol talking or you actually feel this way but, um...if it’s the latter, you should know I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t be against it.”

Hux can’t think of anyway to possibly respond. Mercifully, Ren doesn’t give him a chance: he nods awkwardly at Hux and heads down into the cargo bay, leaving Hux dazed and flustered.

After a full minute of staring at the spot Ren had been standing, Hux backs into the cabin, shuts the door, and sits down on Ren’s bunk. Yet Hux is unable to put his head on the pillow. He can’t stop thinking about what Ren said, about his heinous behaviour that night, about the way Ren admitted he... _wasn’t opposed._

Him and Ren. Hux’s stomach flips at the idea. His heart begins to beat faster and he realises: he wants it, too.

He stands, unsure what he’s going to do, but the decision is made for him: he opens the door to separating the cabin from the living area but Ren standing in the doorframe, hand up as if he was intending to knock. Ren looks at him in surprise, his lips parted slightly and eyebrows raised.

Hux steels himself. He grasps at the front of Ren’s shirt and pulls him in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings (spoilers!): HEAVY alcohol consumption (and its consequences), not great coping mechanisms, mention of past mass murder (NOT committed by any of our main characters!), mention of past child abuse
> 
> thank you so much for all the wonderful comments, they make my day whenever i read them!! i'm sorry for yet another long gap between chapters, i hope the length somewhat makes up for it? :'D
> 
> as always, HUGE THANK YOU to [Gefionne](http://gefionne.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing! i am still on tumblr hiatus but feel free to come hang out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/biotcnerfherder)!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many apologies for the long wait between chapters! as always, chapter warnings are in the end notes

When Hux’s lips meet his, Ben has to resist the urge to pull back and gasp. Instead, he moves his hands to Hux’s waist, holding him tightly but gently against him.

He isn’t sure what he was expecting when he came back up from the cargo bay, but a kiss was definitely not on the list. At Ben’s admission, Hux looked taken aback and uncomfortable, two things Ben definitely did not want Hux to feel; Ben had come up to apologise but was greeted with _this._

Ben smiles against Hux’s lips.

This kiss is so much sweeter than their last. For one, Hux is sober and well aware of his actions, but he’s also no longer under the emotional shock of losing his job; he may still be in mourning his career, but if Ben can offer him some comfort this way, who is he to deny him?

Ben leans away, almost caving in when Hux tries to chase him. “So, I take it you do feel that way?” he teases.

“Well,” Hux murmurs, the faint flush on his cheeks darkening. He bites his lower lip and moves his hands from where they’re tangled in Ben’s shirt to hold onto his shoulders. “They do say that inebriated lips speak sober thoughts.”

“Mm,” Ben hums, leaning in to peck Hux’s lips chastely. “So, if I hadn’t mentioned it, would you have said anything?”

“As stubborn as I am, it would have been a long wait before I realised it at all,” Hux admits. “I’m glad you told me.”

Ben doesn’t mention that he’s almost just as stubborn: he realised his own feelings the last time he was on D’Qar, but doggedly kept silent when it became apparent Hux didn’t remember that night at the apartment. He was waiting for Hux to say something first, to admit to it before him, and it’s only because Hux asked him about what happened in Republic City that Ben said anything at all.

He, however, doesn’t tell Hux all this; he dives in again to kiss Hux’s lips, wasting no time before flicking his tongue across them to coax them open. Hux gives in immediately, a soft gasp escaping him as Ben’s tongue explores his mouth.

The sound makes Ben groan and sends blood to his cock. Tightening his grip on Hux’s waist, Ben moves forward, forcing Hux to step back until he’s crowded against the bulkhead, the two of them wedged between the end of Ben’s bunk and the other side of the narrow cabin. Ben shifts one hand to the wall beside Hux’s head, supporting his weight rather than pressing against Hux completely, and slides his other hand to Hux’s hip.

Hux takes that as an invitation to roll his hips against Ben’s, grinding their half-hard cocks across each other. Ben sighs into Hux’s mouth, both out of relief that he’s not the only one getting hard from just _kissing_ and also a wordless invitation to _keep going_ —which Hux does, unprompted. The sheer _desire_ Ben feels rolling off of him acts like a positive feedback loop of arousal and before long Ben is fully hard; he has to pull away for a breather. Hux follows his mouth when he leans back slightly, so Ben presses a chaste kiss to his lips in apology.

“Are you— Has it, uh, been long? For you?” Ben has to ask—even though he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer—because he’s not sure how long he can last, after _wanting_ Hux for so long. It’s been at least several months since his last cantina _‘liaison’_ (as _Kylo Ren,_ of course, since no Jedi master would behave in such a manner), and Ben feels suddenly anxious of making a fool of himself in front of Hux.

“Yes,” Hux admits quietly, the colour in his cheeks spreading down his neck. “Quite a while.”

Ben stops himself from confessing the same, just satisfied that likelihood of embarrassing himself by coming too soon is lower.

“Do you–– Do you want to stop?” he murmurs. He brushes his hand against Hux’s belt, indicating his intention. “We don’t have to do this right now.”

Hux pulls him forward again, bringing their mouths together, and encouragingly grinds up against Ben’s questioning hand. Ben feels around Hux’s belt clasp, somehow managing to open it with one hand, his other clamped firmly on Hux’s hip. He pauses for a minute, Hux managing to distract him from the task at hand––literally––with his tongue, but Ben remembers himself and deftly undoes Hux’s pants.

“Kriff,” he curses against Hux’s lips, cupping his groin before teasing at the waistband of his briefs.

“Don’t stop,” Hux murmurs.

Emboldened, Ben tugs Hux’s briefs down just enough to free his cock, wrapping one hand around it while the other tightly grips Hux’s hip. Ben jerks once, circling the head with his thumb on the upstroke. There’s already precome beading at the tip; Ben catches it with his thumb and spreads it downwards on his next stroke.

Hux groans. “Ren…”

Ben kisses him again, swallowing the sounds of his pleasure as he licks into Hux’s mouth. Hux feels like a cool drink on a hot day, refreshing after thirsting for so long––after a taste he wants _more._ He slides his hand from Hux’s hip around to his ass, kneading gently as his other hand continues to move up and down Hux’s cock.

“Ren,” Hux moans. _“Kriff.”_

“If only I had lube…” Ben gives Hux’s ass another squeeze before moving back to his hip.

Hux makes a sound halfway between a chuckle and a huff. “You mean this isn’t a common occurrence?”

Ben twists his hand upwards and rubs his thumb across the slit of Hux’s cock; anything else Hux has to say is replaced with another moan.

“My ship”—Ben mouths at Hux’s jaw, whispering right into his ear—“isn’t a pleasure yacht. Serious business _only.”_

“So is this,” Hux pants, “just _business,_ then?”

Ben pauses, and his voice is far more serious than he expected as he says, “No.”

Instead of answering, Hux turns his face to chase Ben’s lips. One of Hux’s hands moves away from the nape of Ben’s neck to lightly stroke his cock through his pants, moving up to the belt. Ben lets him struggle with it for a while, grinning, before helping Hux open the fastenings with his free hand. He pushes his pants down without shame, pulling away for a moment to step out of them and kick them elsewhere in the cabin and giving Hux ample time to ogle all he wants. Ben knows he’s _big,_ and he also knows how to use that to his advantage.

When Ben looks back to Hux, the lecherous look in his eyes tells Ben that it was the right move.

“Are you sure you don’t have lube?” Hux asks. He flicks his gaze back up.

“Sorry,” Ben says sheepishly, and then he’s on Hux again, this time easily taking both of their lengths in his hand as he starts to pump up and down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Hux’s jaw and neck.

It’s not long before Hux’s breathing stutters, and he gasps.

“Ren––”

Ben starts to ask _‘What,’_ but stops when he feels the sudden wetness on his hand as Hux comes. Hux immediately looks awkward, the pleasure in his eyes draining away as he tenses in embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” Ben reassures as he lets go of their cocks. He presses a kiss to Hux’s lips and pulls his shirt off to wipe the come from his hand, not caring enough to go to the refresher.

Hux exhales shakily, some of the tension leaving his posture.

“Don’t––”

Ben is cut off as Hux grips him around the waist and manhandles him into sitting on the bunk.

“Just—let me,” Hux says as he slides to the floor between Ben’s legs. “Let me return the favour. I’m told I’m good at this. Or, at least, I used to be.”

Ben feels jealousy flare up in his chest, the confirmation that Hux has done this with others irrationally bothering him, but all logical thought leaves him the moment Hux bends to lick a stripe up the underside of his cock.

Ben hisses. He leans back on his forearms, making sure he’s propped up enough to clearly see Hux’s head bobbing between his legs.

Hux wraps his lips around the head of Ben’s cock, sucking lightly as his tongue licks at the precome there. Ben groans and watches Hux bend lower, swiftly taking him deeper and deeper––Ben would be impressed if he weren’t so distracted by lust––until Hux gags and pulls off quickly.

“You don’t–– You don’t have to––”

Hux shuts him up by wrapping a fist around the base of his cock and pumping once, twice. “I want to. It’s been a while,” he explains, embarrassment completely forgotten while he’s on his knees. “I moved too fast. I just need to go slower.”

“Okay.” Ben nods, though he’s not sure just how slow Hux means and if he can survive that.

Hux leans down again and once more takes Ben into his mouth—shallower than before. With his fist still wrapped around the base, he moves his head in tandem with his hand, torturously slow, hollowing his cheeks whenever he pulls back, his lips stretched wide around Ben’s cock. Ben melts; he has to consciously resist the urge to thrust his hips. He’s been so close to coming for so long, his balls heavy, but he just needs something _more_ to push him over the precipice.

“Hux,” Ben moans, “I––I’m close, I need––”

Hux looks up then, holding Ben’s stare; the blue-green of his eyes is almost eclipsed completely by wide pupils. He seems to understand exactly what Ben needs and speeds his pace, taking Ben’s cock deeper with each downstroke, until Ben can feel the head hit the back of Hux’s throat. Hux swallows around him; Ben comes hard.

Hux only pulls off once he swallows everything Ben gives him, tenderly placing a kiss on the head before sitting back on his haunches to wipe his saliva with the back of his hand.

“Stars,” Ben murmurs, feeling breathless. He collapses backwards onto the bunk. “That was–– You were––good.”

“Only good?” Hux teases from the floor.

Ben sits up and reaches for Hux. “You know what I mean. Come here.”

“Do I?” he asks, but Hux still obliges and accepts Ben’s hands.

Ben pulls him up onto the bunk with him and kisses Hux softly, tasting himself on Hux’s tongue. “Yes, you do,” he counters. “Don’t look so smug.”

“I thought that was my natural state.” Hux smirks as Ben kisses him again.

“I don’t think I want to sleep on the mat,” Ben muses out loud after a moment, before starting to finally divest Hux of his shirt.

Hux frowns but acquiesces. “What makes you think we’ll both fit on the bunk?”

“We will,” Ben insists. He lets go of Hux to untuck the blanket and can’t help the grin when Hux strips down to his briefs and crawls into the berth.

“Well?” Hux challenges. “Are you just going to watch or have you realised two adult men really can’t fit here?”

Ben chuckles and slinks onto the bunk beside Hux, folding him into his arms and pulling the blanket over both of them. “See? We fit.”

“Barely.”

Hux is right––Ben’s ass is _just_ hanging off the side of the cot and Hux is essentially crowded against the bulkhead––but Ben won’t admit that. Instead, he orders the lights off and chastely presses a kiss to Hux’s lips in the dark.

* * *

Parading around in his opulent Senate robes, Hux always looked something like royalty. Ben had always both loved and hated it: loved because he looked good (even while Ben had claimed to hate him, Ben was man enough to admit it), and hated because Hux seemed untouchable and arrogant, holding himself much higher than the people who’d voted him into office. Most would probably say something similar of Ben: in his Jedi robes he was intimidating, a force to be reckoned with. People would see the lightsaber at his belt, know the power that he could harness, and regard him as something divine, maybe even saintly. It was why he’d created the persona of Kylo Ren in the first place––informants and scoundrels were much more loose-lipped (figuratively and literally) when they thought they were dealing with someone of the same caliber.

And yet, despite all Hux’s glamour and Ben’s power, here they are: two larger-than-life characters, stripped bare to the ordinary men that lay beneath, curled up in each other’s arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Ben tightens his arms around Hux slightly, nuzzling at the overgrown hair at the nape of Hux’s neck. Ben has never been one for lounging in bed––when he’s up, he’s up for the day––so he inhales the scent of Hux’s hair one more time before untangling himself and slipping from the berth in silence. Hux stirs but doesn’t wake, rolling over in his sleep so that his back is now to the bulkhead.

Letting him rest, Ben pulls on his pants and goes to the cockpit to check on their course. As planned, they have a few hours yet before they get to D’Qar. Ben adjusts the _Executor_ ’s chrono and makes note of their arrival time: mid-morning there. He sends Leia a message with their ETA, copied to Enyo, and checks his own inbox; aside from Enyo’s confirmation of their arrival on D’Qar and one of Kylo’s informants checking in, there’s nothing of note. Ben fixes himself a cup of caf and sits in the living quarters, alone, sipping it slowly.

While it’s true he didn’t expect last night to go how it did, Ben can’t help the satisfaction that thrums through his veins, that he can feel down to his toes. He smiles into his caf, fully aware of how Jaina would tease him–– _“I told you so”_ ––if she saw him like this.

When Ben finally realised his feelings the last time he was on D’Qar, everything that happened at Hux’s apartment began to make sense: his irrational jealousy upon hearing about the publicity stunt, his desire to stay with Hux and make sure he was okay, and most of all his frustration at being kicked out without a chance to explain. It was because he cared for Hux, though his ego and stubbornness stood in the way of this realisation until the embarrassment of being tossed out gave him ample opportunity for reflection.

He was determined not to let anything slip until he figured out what to do, but of course Enyo saw straight through him. She gave him a tough time when he arrived on Yavin 4 with Hux in tow.

“We agreed not to tell anyone what happened here, Ben,” she scolded. “And you’ve brought an outsider to see it. What if he tells someone?”

“He won’t,” Ben argued. “Enyo, give him a chance. He’s much more agreeable than you give him credit for.”

“I don’t trust him, Ben. Not yet. You’re letting your feelings cloud your judgement.” She sighed. “But, for you, I’ll give him a chance.”

He couldn’t even deny it at the time; not to Enyo, who had always known him so well. Fortunately, neither of them said anything further on the matter and Hux proved to be a good guest, participating in all chores he was asked to do and staying clear of all Jedi activity. He won Enyo over, and when she informed Ben that he and Hux would be flying to D’Qar on their own, she had a knowing smirk across her face.

Almost as if she predicted what would happen.

Ben makes a note to talk to her about it, in private. Tanma is still wary of Hux, and it would be unbecoming to flaunt any kind of relationship in front of the padawan. It isn’t forbidden and they’re hardly children anymore, but Ben knows they look up to their masters. Besides, Jaina would be unbearably smug; that wouldn’t do at all.

But some guilt has started to seep in, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Because Jaina’s scan of Leia’s console had turned up no results, whomever leaked Hux’s data is still out there. Which means Ben has a slicer to find. He owes Hux that much; some closure over what happened in the Senate will do him some good. Selfishly, Ben hopes that the... _change_ in their circumstances will be enough to forgive him if Ben doesn’t find the culprit. If he can’t provide Hux with closure, he can provide Hux with comfort––emotional and physical––instead.

He adds that to the list of things to discuss with Enyo and Tanma. On Yavin 4 they were so preoccupied with preparing Jacen and Jaina for their trials and with constructing Dar’s lightsaber that Ben hardly had the chance or opportunity to confer with them in private before it was time for them to move on. That is one advantage of D’Qar: the size of the base allows the masters some time apart from their padawan, the constant throng of watchful eyes making sure they don’t get into trouble. It’s ironic how more people means more privacy, but given how close-knit they have to live on Yavin 4, that is simply how it is.

Ben looks up at the door to his cabin, where Hux still sleeps. There’s no way they would have been able to do any of what they did last night on Yavin 4. They might, on D’Qar––if that’s what Hux even wants. Ben supposes this little trip was Enyo’s gift to him, and that she definitely knows more than she let on.

Though he regards her as an older sister on a personal level, Enyo started training with Luke at the same time Ben did; they’re practically equals in their abilities. But Enyo always had a knack for interpreting visions, and is far better at it than Ben is; what he lacks in clairvoyance, he makes up for in telepathy. They’re complimentary in that Enyo’s mind is attuned to the past and future, whereas Ben’s is wholly in the present.

Which is another thing Ben sorely needs guidance in now, given the results of his last long-term meditation.

The hiss of hydraulics startles Ben, the door of his cabin sliding open smoothly to reveal a now-awake Hux.

“Good morning,” Ben greets him with a big grin. He takes a sip of his caf and has to stop himself from grimacing; he was ruminating for much longer than he thought, since his caf is now stone-cold.

Hux returns the greeting: “Morning.” He’s averting his gaze, as if he can’t quite meet Ben’s eyes.

“Caf?” Ben offers, getting up to make himself another cup. He grabs a protein bar to munch on while he waits for the caf to brew.

Hux nods, sitting down at the table instead of approaching Ben in the galley. “Please, thank you.”

He’s fully dressed, Ben notes, and not in what he was wearing yesterday; Hux took the time to unpack some clothes from his bag––and undoubtedly fold and re-pack last night’s clothes––before coming out here. Stalling.

Ben frowns around his protein bar, letting only the hum of the engine and the steeping caf machine fill the awkward silence between them. Hux found a particularly interesting spot on the wall and is staring at it intently, fingers twitching idly against the table’s surface. Sighing, Ben fills up his mug and a new one with caf once it’s brewed and walks it over to Hux, setting the steaming drink in front of him before taking a seat across from him.

“So, all these years and all I had to do to get you to shut up was get you laid? I should have tried it sooner,” Ben quips. He intends it as a joke, a comment to lighten the situation, but there’s some venom in it that isn’t entirely accidental.

Hux finally looks up then and meets his gaze, annoyance in his eyes. “Don’t be like that, Ren.”

_Ren_. The name Ben made up for his alias now feels more like a sacred nickname only Hux is allowed to use. Ben enjoyed Hux moaning that name far too much.

It softens his expression.

“I meant it as a joke,” Ben explains. “But I’m sorry if you regret anything––we don’t have to do it again. We don’t even have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”

The stiffness in Hux’s shoulders eases, as does the irritation in his eyes.

“I–– It…” Hux stammers and hesitates, scrunching his face into an expression that Ben shouldn’t find cute but does anyway. “That’s not it at all.”

Hux hasn’t touched the caf, so Ben nudges the mug more towards him. As if noticing the mug for the first time, Hux gladly accepts the distraction and takes a few sips.

“Like I said, we don’t have to talk about it,” says Ben. “I’d like to, but if you don’t, that’s fine.”

“It’s…just…" Hux pauses for another sip of caf and sighs. “I enjoyed last night. I did. I would…like to repeat it, very much.” Another pause for caf, as if the dark liquid is giving him courage. “But…I need time. I’ve never…I’ve never woken up next to someone, nor have I ever _seen_ someone more than once.”

Ben offers him a warm smile. With how friendly they’ve been with each other in the past few months, it’s easy to forget that Hux is not exactly a sentimental man––he did not grow up among freely-loving family and friends like Ben did.

No matter––they’ve waited this long; they can go slow. They have time; Ben will make sure of it.

“That’s fine,” Ben says. He reaches across the table and wraps his hand around Hux’s wrist to give an encouraging squeeze. He runs his thumb up and down the back of Hux’s hand as he talks. “Like I said, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We have time.”

Hux swallows. “Right. Thank––um, thank you.”

After another squeeze, Ben pulls his hand back.

“We’ve got a few more hours till we get to D’Qar,” he states. “We’ll get there mid-morning local time––right in time to snag a second lunch on base,” he adds jokingly. Ben stands and deposits his caf mug in the galley to clean up later. “I’ll be down in the cargo bay if you need me. Though you know your way around the _Executor,_ and you know you can help yourself to whatever is in the galley.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Hux says. “I’ve got enough on my datapad to occupy me for a while.”

Ben heads down to the cargo bay and sets up his usual exercise mats, flopping down immediately onto them to go through his routine. Though he can never meditate while in hyperspace (he suspects it might have something to do with the fact they’re physically moving so fast it’s difficult to connect with the Force), exercising always helps to sort his thoughts––something he needs to do before he sees Enyo and Tanma to properly discuss his latest meditation.

He’d spent a good chunk of his three meditation days trying to search for Luke, seeking out his presence in the Force. Ben suspects the First Order is about to make its move, and _soon,_ which means conflict in the galaxy is just around the corner. They need to find Luke before that happens, because when the Jedi are inevitably called upon to join the forefront of the fight, their long-kept secret _cannot_ get out; finding out the Order has already dealt a crippling blow to the Jedi would probably cause a panic in the New Republic. Worlds could become fearful enough to submit to the First Order. But Luke’s whereabouts remain elusive––Ben is sure he’s not dead, because he would have _felt_ it, and he and Enyo have long since concluded Luke’s presence is hidden. Hoping the Force might give them some kind of insight is becoming more bleak every time they try.

Instead, Ben’s attention kept turning to his most recent dream: the puzzling, oxymoronic one from that night at Hux’s apartment. He’s discussed it with Tanma and Enyo, and they both believe it’s a vision of the future. They’re unsure of what exactly, and recommended he meditate on it. _That_ yielded him better results than his attempt at reaching out to Luke, but there are still facets of the dream that yet elude him: an ice planet on fire, a red sky, and many, many people in pain. More evidence to suggest that the First Order is indeed about to pounce.

Ben switches from crunches to push-ups, already beginning to work up a sweat. After a set of those, he jogs in place for a few minutes before falling into a kata, the practiced movements bringing down his heart rate and giving him more focus.

Curiously, Hux was involved in his vision somehow. When Ben tried to chase that, however, he was greeted with a closed door; hopefully Enyo and Tanma will be able to help him unlock it and figure out how Hux plays into all this.

Ben continues cycling through his exercise routine, compiling his mental list of things to discuss with Enyo and Tanma. He adds notes to each item on the list and stores it away in his memory, ready for retrieval when he gets to D’Qar. After he finishes his exercises he tidies up the cargo bay and heads back to the upper deck, grabbing a juice pouch from the galley and drinking it quickly. Hux is sitting quietly on the bunk with the cabin door open, reading something on his datapad––Ben notes that his bags are packed up neatly, as he guessed earlier––so Ben doesn’t bother him. Ducking into the refresher, he has a sonic to get rid of the sweat and changes into a fresh pair of clothes before checking their course.

Having managed to successfully use up almost three hours, Ben prepares himself a rehydrated meal for lunch.

“Do you want lunch?” Ben offers, calling out to Hux from across the deck. “I’m preparing an instant meal for myself, want one?”

“I’m all right, thank you,” Hux calls back without looking up. “I don’t need lunch.”

Ben frowns. He’s noticed Hux doesn’t eat much––just like Jaina.

“Suit yourself,” he responds, deciding not to comment on it.

The rest of the flight is quiet. Hux remains in the cabin, reading, and to occupy himself Ben goes about sending a request to check in with each and every one of Kylo Ren’s contacts. He’ll need to call on them soon, anyway, to search for any concrete evidence the First Order is planning something. Once they drop out of hyperspace, Hux moves to the living quarters and buckles himself in without being prompted. He’s still being uncharacteristically quiet, but he _did_ ask for time; Ben will give him both time and space if that’s what he needs.

The approach is smooth, skirting around the fringes of the asteroid belt, and soon enough Ben is manoeuvring the _Executor_ into his usual landing pad, where two figures await them.

Leia has on an expression that Ben knows well– it’s the kind that she puts on when she wants everyone else to think everything is all right, but in actuality she’s very worried about something. Ben will ask her when they’re in private. Korr Sella, on the other hand, is practically bouncing in excitement––not literally, but her feelings are rolling off her in strong waves––and has a self-satisfied _‘I told you so’_ look in her eyes, completely directed at Hux the moment the loading ramp lowers them into view. It’s taking a lot of self-restraint for her not to run up to her former boss and embrace him.

“Hux, Ben,” Leia calls out to them in greeting. She steps forward as they step off the ramp and meets them halfway. “I trust your trip was all right?” She reaches out to shake Hux’s hand and clasps it in both of hers, her worry fading in the warm smile she gives him.

Ben can feel Hux willing away the colour trying to rise in his cheeks.

“No worse than usual,” Hux quips. Deflecting with humour. “I’ve grown somewhat used to flying in that hunk of junk.”

“Hey!” Ben protests.

Leia pats Hux’s hand once more and releases it. “You’ve never flown in the _Falcon._ _That_ ship was a real piece of junk. But don’t tell that to Han; you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that if I ever have the pleasure of seeing him again,” Hux replies diplomatically. He turns to Korr. “Korrie, nice to––”

In an uncharacteristically casual move that surprises everyone, Korr Sella throws her arms around Hux in an embrace.

“I knew I’d see you here,” she says, her arms still wrapped around Hux’s torso. Hux is visibly frozen, but manages to pat her between the shoulders twice with his free hand. “Leia told me what happened in Republic City. I told you you should have come with me!” Finally, she releases him.

“I appreciate your concern, but I assure you I’m fine.”

“We’re just glad to offer you a safe place,” Leia cuts in. “Korr will show you to your quarters––you can drop off your things.”

Hux swallows. “My quarters?” he asks, as if the term ‘quarters’ is far too permanent for his liking. As if he’s already begun planning his next move.

Not for the first time, Ben wonders if Hux has already started planning what to do from here. And for the first time, Ben realises he would be more than willing to accompany Hux wherever he might be going.

“Just a spare room in the barracks,” Leia explains coolly. Practiced, as if she was expecting exactly this reaction. “We constructed the base with the intention of recruiting more personnel, and we haven’t exactly filled in our numbers yet.”

Hux nods, accepting the explanation. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

Leia chuckles. “No need to be so formal, Hux. We all want to make sure you’re safe. We take care of our own around here.”

Korr gestures at Hux for him to follow. “I’ll take you there now. I’d like to pick your brain about a few things, actually…”

Ben watches them walk off, Korr gesticulating excitedly as she explains something. Hux listens intently, and Ben sees his eyes light up for the first time at someone other than Ben, as Korr goes on. Before long the two of them are discussing something heatedly out of earshot.

“What’s that about?” Ben asks as he turns back to his mother.

The serious expression is back on her face, but this time without the false pretences.

“Apparently, Korr and Hux managed to convince Chancellor Villecham to make some kind of arrangement. He’s agreed to meet with a Resistance member to hear out our mission statement. I’ve assigned Korr as our official Senate liaison officer, since that is really her natural habitat.”

“And Hux’s too. He’s obviously happy to be offering advice.” Ben notices the various officers, workers, and pilots scattered around the base very obviously trying to sneak covert glances in both his and Leia’s and in Hux and Korr’s direction. “What’s the official story, then?”

Leia glances around them; the maintenance worker closest to them jumps and turns back to her task intently. Leia jerks her head in the direction of her office and Ben follows. He’d been planning on checking in with Enyo, but he can do so later; she no doubt either saw his approach or sensed his arrival.

“I’ve told everyone the partial truth: that Hux was threatened for his generous contributions to us, so we are offering him safe haven for now. I haven’t mentioned details like exactly who, or if his retirement is involved.” She pauses, looks Ben in the eye, and resumes the walk. “But our people are smart––they’ve probably connected the dots. No one will question anything, of course. They respect him enough.”

Ben nods. “Good. So, why are you upset?”

“Not here,” Leia says tersely. “In my office.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence, Ben growing increasingly uncomfortable with each step. Once there, Leia gestures for him to sit in front of her desk while she seals the door with her personal code, worrying Ben even more. Leia settles into her desk chair and purses her lips for a moment before she says anything.

“I got in touch with an old friend of mine,” she explains. “A slicer.”

Ben perks up. “You found something?”

Leia frowns. “Conder admitted that whoever accessed the data and leaked it was very good. He said the breach of my console itself was scrubbed from our systems.” She reaches under her desk and pulls out a small piece of flimsi hidden there. “But he did find something. On one of our public terminals, one of the generic use consoles in the mess hall. Conder isn’t even sure it’s the right communique, but it was sent from here to somewhere in the Senatorial Complex in Republic City a few days before the last debate––the timing and destination suggests this was it.”

“And?” Ben presses. Leia’s hesitance is starting to grate on him; why is she waiting when there is someone out there they can punish? So Hux might finally be able to get some closure?

“First,” Leia insists, holding the flimsi scrap out of Ben’s reach, “I need to tell you that this doesn’t leave this room. I want you to deal with this, and I want you to keep it on the down-low. I trust your judgement in confronting this person.”

Ben holds his hand out, ready for the flimsi. “All right, and?”

“Don’t get upset. Find out why first, if it _was_ them, before you do anything else. The rest is at your discretion.” Leia hesitates for another beat and hands him the scrap. “That’s the access code that was used on the console. I’m sure you recognise it.”

He snatches the flimsi out of Leia’s hand but almost drops it when he scans the number on it: his own access code.

There’s only one person he shared his access code with.

Because Jaina never had the Resistance security clearance to have one of her own.

“You trust Conder?” Ben asks, uncomprehending.

Leia swallows. “I do. But I told you––I want you to confront her and find out if it really was her and why. Then it’s up to you to judge how you might hand down punishment.”

Ben stands abruptly, toppling his chair in the process. “And keep it under wraps? Yeah, got it. I’ll deal with her right now,” Ben fumes, ignoring all else his mother says as he leaves the office to storm through the base.

He finds Jacen, Dar, and Jaina on the fringes of the jungle, right by the path that cuts to his usual meditation spot in the small clearing. The padawan are running through some katas, their lightsabers ignited, bodies moving in sync. Dar is doing well. For having only recently completed his lightsaber, he seems to be handling it with ease, apart from the occasional misstep. For each little mistake, Jaina and Jacen are extremely patient with him; they stop and wait for Dar to catch up, offering encouragements, before settling back into the motions together. Under normal circumstances, Ben would appraise their movements as he watched, taking mental notes to give them later. Now, however, all he feels is his stomach in knots, his chest aching with the possibility of betrayal.

Jaina looks so at ease. Could she really have done something so terrible?

“Master _Ren!”_ Dar exclaims, the first one to notice Ben’s approach. The three padawan extinguish their lightsabers. “When did you arrive? Did you and Hux have a good trip?”

Ben nods tightly in greeting. “It was fine. We got here not too long ago.” He fixes Jaina with a look. “Walk with me? We need to talk.”

“Yes, Master,” Jaina replies dutifully. She clips her lightsaber back onto her belt and turns to her brother. “You two can continue without me.”

Jacen hums in agreement, already reigniting his saber. Its pink glow casts an odd light onto the trees behind them. “Don’t have to tell me twice. Come on, Dar.”

Dar holds up his own green lightsaber and the two start into another kata in unison, leaving Ben to lead Jaina through the jungle to his favourite clearing. He’s silent the entire walk, and though he feels Jaina’s discomfort beside him, neither of them say anything. Jaina knows him well enough that she can tell when he’s upset; she knows that whatever he needs to talk to her about is serious and won’t sully that with her usual sarcastic quip.

When they get to the clearing, Ben paces its length thrice while Jaina watches, patiently awaiting his words.

“Was it you?” he asks finally, whirling on his apprentice.

Jaina tilts her head. “Was what me?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

Ben swallows. He feels like saying it out loud, acknowledging it, will make it true, and he’s not ready for the repercussions. He inhales, counts to five, and speaks.

“You’re the slicer. You’re the one who leaked the information to the chancellor and hurt our plans. Hurt _Hux.”_

A confused look crosses her features. “I thought you would be happy. He’s _here_. I told you before; you’d be spending more time with him.”

_“Jaina,”_ Ben hisses, “don’t tell me you compromised Hux’s election so that I could _spend more time with him.”_

“I didn’t compromise the election,” Jaina insists. She crosses her arms defensively over her frame. “I _knew_ he wasn’t going to be chancellor.”

The moment the words fall out of her mouth, Ben feels his stomach drop: she’s opened the door in his mind.

Behind it, Ben sees the truth in her words. Somehow, he knew the same: the Force had been telling him all along that Hux wouldn’t become chancellor. Though it was simply a hum, passing under the radar of his attention, _now_ that the door is open and he knows where to look he can hear it, clear as day. Is this why he’d been so lax about Leia’s cautionary orders? Why throughout his campaign Ben saw fit to drag Hux into Resistance business without a second thought? Yet he can’t bring himself to regret any of those actions; his instincts––which he should now attribute to the Force instead––had kept repeating it was the right thing to do, that if he hadn’t it would have ended badly for him.

Or Hux. Or both of them. He can’t tell.

But Jaina did something traitorous: she’d exposed Resistance secrets without permission. She was right, Ben begrudgingly admits to himself, but she still needs to be punished.

“Jaina.” Ben inhales, calming himself. “Your trials are to be postponed.”

“ _What_?” There is a look of betrayal on her face, and anger in her voice.

“You heard me. Your trials will be postponed. You are not ready to become a Knight.”

She stares at him, eyes hard. “I am. Being a Jedi Knight is about telling right from wrong, and making my _own_ decisions, is it not?”

“Partly. But it is also about being _mature enough_ to seek guidance when needed.” Ben crosses his arms. “You didn’t stop to think about the _consequences_ your actions would have. You _did not_ ask for help. You _are not_ ready.”

“But Jace––”

“Your brother will undergo his trials as planned,” Ben interrupts. “Masters Enyo and Tanma will leave with him and Dar when the time comes to oversee them. You and I will remain here.”

Jaina straightens her spine, tilting her chin up to glare up at Ben. “You can’t do this. You know I’m right. You feel it, too. You _know_ I’m right! You _know_ why I did this!”

Ben matches her stare but keeps his voice level. “So what if I do? That doesn’t change the fact that you deliberately went _behind my back_ , behind _Leia’s_ back, behind _all of our backs,_ and released a secret that was not yours to tell.”

“I did what the Force guided me to do!” she argues. “What else could I have done, when my basest instincts told me this was the way? Should I have ignored what the Force was telling me? Run to your mother and tell her my _feelings?”_

“You could have told _me._ Or Enyo, or Tanma. Any of us. We would have been there to _guide_ you, Jaina. To _help._ It’s what we are here for.”

Jaina shuts her mouth, the fight leaving her posture immediately.

“Anyone else would have been thrown in a cell for doing what you did, Jaina,” Ben continues. “You’re lucky the general came to me directly, discreetly. It’s only because I trust–– _trusted_ you that she hasn’t spread the word and taken you in.”

Jaina winces.

They stare at each other, master and padawan, for a long moment; in the end, she slumps and sits ungracefully on the ground.

“Will you tell him?” she asks, gaze cast downwards. “Hux?”

All the quality time Jaina spent with Hux on Yavin 4 suddenly makes sense. “We’ll see. Don’t think befriending him has absolved you of the wrong you’ve done to him.”

Jaina scowls. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But you thought about it.”

“I’m going to meditate,” Jaina mumbles. “I’d appreciate some privacy.” Her voice is icy, and Ben can tell it will be a long time before she forgives him for this. Before either of them can move past this.

“Good,” Ben says as he takes a deep breath. “And I hope you think on everything I’ve said.”

* * *

Ben knows the first thing he should do is run back to Leia’s office and tell her everything. Confirm that she was, sadly, correct in her suspicions and that Ben is still deciding how to deal with it: he can’t send Jaina away. He won’t. And not because she knows too many secrets and could easily sell them if she left––it’s because Ben still has faith in her, believes she can do better than this, if given the chance. He can’t abandon his padawan now, even if he doesn’t quite trust her anymore.

But what can he possibly tell Leia? Ben had been oblivious to Jaina’s tampering and her plans; she is his responsibility, which means he’s partially at fault. And not only did he fail to sense her plans and find the slicer right under his nose, he himself was the one to urge Hux to send the last transaction––the records of which Jaina had dug up and passed along. Leia knows this already, and for whatever reason has seemed to forgive him––he suspects it’s because at the time the benefits had outweighed the risks––but would she be able to see past this? And when he tells her begrudgingly that he can see what pushed Jaina to do this and somewhat understands, she might not see things the same way.

Going to Leia’s office is out of the question for now. Ben heads to Tanma’s workshop instead: the glorified storage closet she took over, where he knows he’ll find her and Enyo.

As expected, Tanma is bent over her workbench tinkering with something while Enyo watches from over her shoulder, a hand tenderly placed on the small of her back. Ben is fully aware the two aren’t just close friends, but they have never spoken about the shift in their relationship, nor do they flaunt it, so in respect to their privacy, Ben has never mentioned it either.

“Ben!” Enyo looks up when she hears the door. Ben lets it shut behind him as he steps farther into the small room. “What’s wrong?”

Tanma puts down her tools and whatever she’s working on and swings her chair around to face him. “Karabast, Ben, you look wretched. What’s happened?”

“You would look like this if you’ve just found out what I have,” Ben bites.

Enyo tuts at him in frustration, her head-tails twitching. “Don’t take it out on us, Ben. Tell us; let us help you.”

Ben sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Then _tell us_ ,” Tanma insists.

Closing his eyes, Ben massages his temple for a moment before facing his two friends again. “I know who the leak is. I know who sabotaged Hux’s election.”

Enyo gasps, her hand flying up to her lips. She’s figured it out based on Ben’s dejection. “Ben…”

“Who?” Tanma asks, glancing at Enyo but not having caught on yet.

Ben swallows. “Jaina.”

Enyo and Tanma stare at him for a beat. Then Tanma, who has always been the most hot-headed out of all of them, stands suddenly; her lips are curled up in a sneer and her eyes are filled with anger. She starts to make for the door but stills when Enyo places a hand on her shoulder.

“Calm yourself, _mesh’la,”_ Enyo instructs her, not unkindly. She squeezes Tanma’s shoulder affectionately. “Let Ben tell us the rest.”

It’s then Ben realises that Tanma’s anger was not aimed at him, but at Jaina––she intended to go after the teen when she went for the door. Ben raises an eyebrow at this development; Tanma has made it clear she’s not Hux’s biggest fan. That she would be so ready to jump to his defense is...surprising.

Tanma scowls at him. “Just because I don’t like him as a person doesn’t mean I didn’t think he was _good_ at what he did. He was useful to us. Could have been even more so.”

“Right,” Ben says, half-believing.

“Please tell us what happened, Ben,” Enyo presses.

So he does: he starts at the beginning, the day in Hux’s office and the gut feeling that had told him it was okay to go there in the first place. He tells them about Jaina’s ominous predictions after that trip, about Hux’s desperate search by hand to find a leak in his own office, about how Leia and Ben were at first convinced it couldn’t have been someone in the Resistance. He details how they’d trusted Jaina to do a sweep of Leia’s console, which in hindsight might have allowed her to do a final scrub of any evidence that remained of her slicing. Finally, Ben reveals what Leia told him upon his arrival and his confrontation with Jaina.

When he’s done, Enyo regards Ben with consideration. Tanma has grit her teeth, and Ben can see her jaw twitching every so often; her horns seem to glint threateningly.

“Do you agree with her?” Enyo asks cautiously. “You said when she told you why she’d done it, she opened up your mind to a sign from the Force. So, do you agree with what she did?”

“I don’t know,” Ben snaps, at the same time as Tanma growls, “Of course not.”

She looks at him incredulously. “You don’t _know?_ Your padawan went behind your back and did something without considering the repercussions. How can you even _consider_ agreeing with her actions?”

“Tanma,” Enyo warns, her voice tender. “Of course he doesn’t agree with the _method._ I’m asking if he agrees with the _motivation,_ and the result.”

Ben exhales through his nose. “Thank you, Enyo. And to answer you...I don’t know. The future is constantly in motion, so I’m not even sure if what Jaina saw was inevitable or if she inadvertently caused it. All the Force is telling me now is that we are better off with this chain of events than without Jaina’s meddling. That it would have ended badly for us had she not intervened.”

_“We_ are better off,” Tanma interjects, “or _Hux_ is better off? Which I’d disagree with––he looks miserable. He used to have a fire in his eyes, which I hated but begrudgingly respected; that’s gone now.”

Ben bristles but holds his tongue.

“Meanwhile, the Resistance is left vulnerable,” Tanma continues. “We’ve lost a powerful ally and the chance of validation from the New Republic Senate. From where I stand it looks like we’ve ended up with the worse end of the stick––Jaina should not have gotten involved. She should have let the cards fall where they were _supposed_ to.”

“We haven’t lost an ally. Hux is still on our side, and he is still capable of supporting us.” Enyo crosses her arms, ignoring Ben’s surprise at her defense of Hux. “Do not count him out yet.”

Tanma rolls her eyes. “Not you, too. I’ve had enough of hearing praise about him from Dar––the kid is _obsessed_ with him.”

“I’m not singing his praises,” Enyo retorts. “I’m just saying the truth.”

Ben chooses this moment to interrupt, wanting to steer the conversation away from Hux. “And we haven’t completely lost our chance at a Senate endorsement. Leia told me that somehow Hux and Korr Sella have arranged a meeting with the new chancellor, and that she’s appointed Korr as a Senate liaison officer,” Ben explains.

“That’s good news.” Enyo cocks her head at him. “Perhaps things aren’t as bleak as Tanma thinks.”

“We have a scrap of a chance,” Tanma scowls. “We would have had more with Hux in that office.”

Ben is torn between being glad that Tanma thought so highly of Hux and being annoyed that she no longer feels so impressed.

“Speculating is useless,” Enyo says. “We will never know how things would have happened had Jaina not leaked the data. All we can do”—she turns to Ben—“is decide what to do from here.”

“I’ve grounded her for now. She won’t be going with you for Jacen’s trials.”

“With _us?”_ Tanma asks, rising a tattooed eyebrow.

“Someone has to keep an eye on her,” Ben explains.

Tanma hums, suggesting she suspects ulterior motives for Ben staying behind. There _may_ be, but for now Jaina is the priority.

“I think that’s a good start.” Enyo moves to sit on the cramped floor beside Tanma’s bench, crossing her legs into a lotus position. “She has to regain our trust, more importantly the General’s trust, before _I_ would let her continue training, let alone come on missions with us again. Let me talk to her––if we meditate together I can parse out what pushed her to act as she did. But it’s up to you, Ben, to re-teach her how to reach out for guidance when she needs it.”

Ben nods.

“For now, I think there are other things you wanted to talk to me about.” Enyo pats the floor opposite her and gestures for Ben to sit. “Give Jaina some space for today. I’ll start work with her tomorrow.”

“And leave her alone?” Tanma sighs frustratedly but sits on her stool, swinging it back around to the bench and picking up her tools again. “Who knows what she could get up to.”

“She won’t,” Ben says curtly. “This was a single mistake. I didn’t sense any malicious thoughts from her.”

Enyo raises her hand to cut both of them off. “Mistake or not, Jacen and Dar will keep an eye on her.”

“How can I trust my own padawan when Ben can’t trust his?” Tanma asks over her shoulder.

“I trust her enough,” Ben bites back. “And now, of all times, is not the time to start suspecting each other, least of all Dar. He’s only _thirteen,_ Tanma.”

“And Jaina is _sixteen,_ Ben.”

Enyo snaps her fingers twice as if they are children being scolded. _“Enough._ Bickering gets us nowhere. Ben, come sit. Let’s discuss what you wanted to talk about; there’s also something Tanma wanted to tell you.”

“Now is not the time,” she says.

Tanma says nothing else, her attention fully on whatever she’s working on, so Ben sits across from Enyo, mirroring her position in a way that allows their knees to brush. She rests her hands palm-up on top of their knees and Ben drapes his hands over hers. Both close their eyes and slip into meditation together, communing through the Force rather than out loud.

He brings forth from his memory the list he formed earlier and pushes it towards Enyo. He can feel when she receives it, seeing each item in their associated memories and rather than an actual list. It plays almost like an abstract holovid: from the scenes of his vision to what happened with Hux, Ben stays silent as Enyo observes each memory, giving her time to process them. He feels her smile when she realises what happened last night.

_I did have a feeling that would happen,_ Enyo pushes his way. _I’m happy for you. But with this news about Jaina, you should tread carefully._

Ben acknowledges her advice but says no more.

Enyo doesn’t expect a response, anyway. _This vision is worrying. I think your instinct is correct––the First Order is going to strike soon. We have to talk to the general about how to move forward._

_I will, once I figure out what the hell to tell her about Jaina._

_You underestimate your mother’s strength in the Force,_ Enyo scolds. _If you tell her the truth, earnestly, as well as your feelings about how everything has happened how it’s supposed to be, she will understand._

Ben grimaces. _Will she? When Jaina has ruined a plan years in the making?_

Enyo smiles. _Your mother was never one to place all her eggs in one basket; I am sure she had at least three back up plans. Just tell her the truth._

He has no response to that so he remains silent, lets Enyo explore the other things on his list. She makes a noise of disappointment––not at directed at him––when she encounters the dead-end in their search for Luke.

Ben isn’t sure how long they’ve been sitting there meditating together, but by the time they finish Tanma has calmed down significantly. She’s turned back towards them, leaning back against her bench as she toys with the blaster scope in her hands––if she’s finished working on it, he and Enyo must have been under for quite some time.

“Yeah,” Tanma agrees, picking up on his realisation. “It’s about an hour to dinner. Shall we go to the canteen?”

The fact that she offers dinner instead of suggesting Ben go to Leia is not lost on him. It’s a peace offering of sorts, since she probably knows he isn’t ready to talk to his mother yet.

Ben stands, stretching out his legs; they’re sore from sitting idly for so long. He offers Enyo a hand and she takes it, using his grip as leverage to pull herself up. Silently, the three of them exit Tanma’s workshop and weave through the base towards the canteen.

The kitchen droids are used to the Jedi eating at odd times, often either saving them food from the last meal or bringing out the first batch of whatever’s being served for the next. A couple of new recruits Ben recognises but whose names he doesn’t know are on mess hall cleaning duty tonight, and though they give the three Jedi a questioning look once they enter. They clear off a table in the corner and politely steer clear of it once the old LEP-model droid sets down three trays for the three of them.

“Was the afternoon useful, at least?” Tanma asks around a mouthful of roast gourd.

“Yes,” Enyo answers for Ben while he’s busy scarfing down the soybean stew. He burns his tongue on the sauce, but he hasn’t eaten since that rehydrated meal on the _Executor;_ he didn’t realise how hungry he was.

“Enyo agrees with my suspicion,” he adds after a moment. “The First Order is gearing up for a big move. I’m almost sure that’s what my last vision was.”

Tanma and Enyo exchange a look.

“What?” Ben asks. He’s moved onto the flatbread on his tray.

“I mentioned Tanma has something to tell you,” Enyo explains. “I think it confirms our suspicions.”

Ben glances at Tanma, nodding at her to indicate she should go on.

“I felt my sister’s presence,” she says. “Briefly, but I felt it. Clear as day.”

That stops Ben from tearing off another piece of bread.

“You’re sure?”

She nods.

Tanma’s sister was a core reason they started helping the Resistance in the first place: she’d perished in a raid on a cargo ship eight years ago, which, after Leia’s scandal, they had been able to trace back to the Amaxines and therefore the First Order. Her sister had also been strong in the Force but had turned down the offer to join the New Jedi Order; Ben can only imagine the pain of losing someone you were bonded with through both blood and the Force. Tanma’s grief over the loss of her older sibling almost drove her to abandon the Jedi in order to join the Resistance, when Leia eventually founded it. Luke prevented that by insisting she could continue her studies in the Force _and_ help the Resistance at the same time.

“I think she was reaching out to me,” Tanma says. “If, after all these years, she’s trying to reach out to me from the Force...it’s not a good sign.”

“That’s why I agree with you, Ben,” Enyo says cautiously, her voice low. Some other personnel have started to trickle in, lining up to collect their own dinner trays from the droids. “I do think we should be extremely wary of the First Order in the coming weeks. And I think we need to talk to your mother as soon as possible.”

Ben frowns and turns back to his dinner. Enyo wordlessly places her serving of vegetables on his tray and turns to Tanma to change the conversation.

Eventually the canteen grows louder as more people file in for dinner. Ben is picking at the last piece of Tanma’s flatbread when a particularly raucous group of starfighter pilots enters the mess. Poe Dameron leads the pack, deep in conversation with his squadronmate L’ulo L’ampar.

Ben almost does a double-take when Hux and Korr bring up the rear of the group.

Korr is chatting animatedly with Jess Pava while Hux is reading over something on a datapad, not listening to the conversation. It’s obvious the only reason he’s tagging along with _that_ group at all is because Korr is with them, but it still strikes Ben as odd to see Hux, who has been quite reserved these past two weeks, suddenly with the loudest people in the mess hall.

“Will you tell him?” Tanma asks.

Ben peels his gaze away, realising he was staring and was _caught_ doing so.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“I think he has the right to know,” Tanma says nonchalantly. A complete change from her mood earlier––working with her hands always calms her down. “I think you should tell him.”

“Well, that’s Ben’s decision, and we won’t interfere, right?” Enyo presses.

Tanma purses her lips but nods.

Ben stands, then, and picks up his tray. “I’ll see Leia first thing tomorrow. Thank you for all the help today. I’ll come to you after you’ve spoken with Jaina in the morning.”

He dumps the contents of the tray down a trash chute and deposits the tray itself in the receptacle next to it, striding quickly towards the exit. He steals another glance at Hux and can’t help but smile when he sees Hux dragging Korr out of a conversation in order to discuss something else on the datapad––whatever they’ve been working on all day, Hux is throwing himself headfirst into it. A project will do him some good, Ben thinks.

When he exits the main building, he can just make out Jaina, Jacen, and Dar approaching in the light of dusk. Jacen and Dar are engaged in some kind of discussion, while Jaina lags behind a few paces. Ben stops and looks at them; Jaina glances up, sensing his presence, but can’t keep eye contact with him for more than a beat. Ben continues on his way then, first stopping at the _Executor_ to pick up his things and then heading to the room Leia assigned to him in the barracks.

The bare room is just how he left it: cot in the corner with the blanket folded messily on top, footlocker empty, and the only personal effect being one of the extra pens in his calligraphy set that he brought just to have one here. Ben is suddenly tired, so he changes into a pair of soft pants and forgoes a shirt to lie on the cot, staring silently at the ceiling with only the sound of his breaths to keep him company. The cot is, at least, bigger than his bunk on the _Executor_ ––he can spread out his limbs and only have his hands dangle off the sides.

He’ll have to figure out what to tell Leia. He has to ask what her plans are moving forward. He, Enyo, and Tanma have to change their strategy in their search for Luke. He has to decide how to deal with Jaina.

All of these responsibilities and plans to map out, but instead he falls asleep unintentionally, the absence of people in the barracks lending to a sense of peace and quiet that lulls him into dreamless sleep.

A sharp rap on his door startles him. There’s no light coming from the window, the sun now set completely, but he can’t have been asleep for too long. He gets up, turns on the lights, and rubs the sleep from his eyes and hopes that whoever it is won’t be able to tell he’s been napping.

He opens his mouth to greet whoever it is but shuts it once he sees who is on the other side of the door.

“Ren?” Hux folds his hands together in front of his body, index fingers twitching in what Ben has observed is a subtle nervous tic.

Ben can only stare at Hux as the two sides of his conscience war over whether or not to tell him the truth.

“Ren?” Hux asks tentatively, and only then does Ben realise he’s said nothing and simply stared for a whole minute. “Are you all right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Ben winces internally at his ineloquence. “It’s––it’s just been a long day.”

This seems to take Hux aback, and he glances at the chrono strapped around his wrist. “Oh, kriff, sorry. I–– Korrie and I were so distracted and had so much caf while talking that I hadn’t realised how late it is. Were you sleeping?”

“No,” Ben denies lamely. It’s on the tip of his tongue: _I know who leaked the intel. I know who ruined your career._

But he can’t bring himself to say it.

“I, um,” Hux says awkwardly after another long pause. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He turns to leave, snapping Ben out of his daze––Hux showed up at his door _to see him_ and he was turning him away?

“Wait, Hux!”

Hux stops. He glances over his shoulder at Ben, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“What?”

Ben swallows. He can’t tell Hux, not when there’s a chance of rejection. It’s selfish of him—the most selfish thing he’s ever done; withholding the truth from Hux is basically lying, but he will not lose _this_ ––whatever _this_ is––before they’ve even had a chance to really try.

He decides the truth of Jaina’s actions will be the last secret he ever keeps from Hux; the only lie he will ever tell him.

“Sorry,” Ben says. He flashes Hux an apologetic smile. “It’s been a long day, I was just zoning out a little. Let me try again.” He clears his throat and drops his hands to his sides. “Hi.”

Hux turns back to him fully, frowning to smother a smile; his eyes give him away. “Good...evening?”

“Do you want to come in?” Ben steps to the side of the doorway and gestures inside.

Hux’s cheeks warm slightly, but he nods and steps forward. “Sure, thank you.”

“Did you need something?” Ben asks when he’s shut the door behind the both of them.

“I was just checking to see if Korrie was pulling my leg,” Hux says. The excuse sounds practiced. “The quarters I’m staying in are two doors down. She told me these were yours but I didn’t believe her.”

Ben grins. “So you were going to knock on someone else’s door in the middle of the night? What if this actually was someone else’s room?”

Hux frowns. “I didn’t exactly know it was the middle of the night, did I? This planet’s time cycle is so...odd.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Ben dismisses, then realises this is the wrong thing to say. Hux tenses and Ben remembers that he’s probably already planning his next move. “It’s just jetlag,” he adds quickly. “Doesn’t Arkanis have a longer day cycle than Hosnian Prime? It’ll be like adjusting to that.”

“I suppose,” Hux says, but his frown persists. He turns to the desk and spots Ben’s calligraphy pen. “This looks really old, Ren. Inner Rim markets sell antiques like this for several thousand credits.”

Ben sits on the cot, leaning back on his hands casually in a way he knows will show off his muscles. “I know. It’s part of a set; the rest is back on Yavin 4.”

“Where did you get it?” Hux picks up the pen carefully, inspecting it.

“My father found it years ago and gave it to me,” Ben explains. “It was actually the first name day I’d celebrated on Yavin 4––it was a nice surprise to receive the set.”

Hux sets it down and turns to him, a sad smile on his face. “That does sound nice.”

Sensing Hux’s rising discomfort, Ben changes the subject. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes, actually,” Hux says, voice suddenly quiet.

“Go ahead,” Ben prompts, trying to make his tone as reassuring as possible.

Hux sighs and crosses his arms, leaning back against the desk. “I...I’m not sure where to start, so I suppose I’ll just dive in. I told you this morning”—Hux starts—“was it only this morning? It feels longer…” He pauses to sigh. “Anyway, I told you earlier that this is all new to me. And that’s because…well, I’m good with people. It is–– _was_ part of my job, after all. But I’m only good with them at a professional level. I’m not–– I’ve never been good at interpersonal relationships.”

“I doubt that; you seem to be fairly close friends with Korr,” Ben interrupts.

“Korrie and Esmelle were my employees––I was literally paying them to spend time with me. That’s not quite friendship.”

“You don’t anymore.”

Ben doesn’t mention that Jaina had been trying (and mostly succeeding) to be Hux’s friend on Yavin 4.

“Yes. But that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say is I don’t—” Hux clears his throat. “I don’t know how to do _this_ ”—he gestures between the two of them—“but...I want to try.”

Ben smiles and stands, takes a few steps towards Hux. “I’d like that.” He takes another step, right into Hux’s space, and cups his cheek to make him meet his gaze. “And really, it’s not a big change. It’s just that now…we can do this.”

He leans in, gauging Hux’s reaction first, and when he makes no protest Ben closes the gap between them. Hux’s eyes slide shut as he leans into the kiss and Ben savours the moment.

“I think I can manage that,” Hux whispers after he draws back.

* * *

Ben wakes up with a warm weight huddled against his side, the grey light of dawn cutting a fuzzy square on his ceiling. He blinks up at it a few times to let his eyes adjust to the light; the room swims into focus, as does the head of orange hair currently using his bicep as a pillow. Gently, Ben uses the Force to lift his head up just enough to extricate his arm, replacing it with his own still-warm pillow. Hux sighs, and Ben stills out of the fear of waking him, but his eyes remain closed as he continues sleeping; he’s either a heavy sleeper or is more tired from the trip than either of them thought. Ben moves slowly, taking great pains to not jostle the cot––his bunk on the _Executor_ is much sturdier, and he misses it in this situation––while he gets up and stretches his legs.

Last night after his declaration, Hux attempted to stay and make conversation, obviously unwilling to return to his own room just yet. But it was late and they both ended up falling asleep on top of the cot, the blanket still haphazardly folded under their feet and Hux still in the clothes he wore all day.

Ben picks up the blanket now and drapes it over Hux to make sure he’s not cold while Ben goes to the barracks’ communal refresher to relieve himself. He goes about it as fast as he can; he doesn’t want Hux to wake up to an empty room. Fortunately, there are few others awake at this hour and the refresher stalls are blissfully empty. Ben makes a point of rinsing the taste of sleep out of his mouth before he hurries back to his quarters.

Hux is still fast asleep when Ben returns, the only difference that he’s turned onto his other side. There are countless things Ben has to do today and he usually detests going back to bed after waking up, but he crawls back under the blanket and nestles his side against Hux’s back. Hux looks peaceful while sleeping; Ben could do with some calm before the day ahead. And it _is_ still early, so just this once Ben lets himself take the lazy option.

He doesn’t intend to fall asleep again, just to relax, but he does, and when he wakes up, the light streaming through the window is a much brighter yellow. He stretches his arms, expecting to find Hux beside him, but comes up empty. Ben looks up and finds him sitting up on the cot, looking down at him with an odd expression.

“Staring is rude, you know,” Ben teases, remembering the first time he caught Hux staring at him.

The sunlight reflects off of Hux’s hair, making it seem paler––golden, almost.

“I wasn’t staring, Ren” Hux corrects. Prickly even in the morning. “I was simply trying to figure out how to crawl over you and get off the bed without waking you. Evidently, I failed without even trying.”

There’s disappointment in Hux’s tone and the feedback emanating from him, but not at Ben, at _himself_. As if he’s thinking: _See? You_ are _no good at this._

Ben raises a hand and strokes it down Hux’s arm. “I woke up earlier already, don’t worry. You didn’t wake me up.”

Hux hums, unconvinced.

“I mean it,” Ben insists as he sits up. “I’m a pretty light sleeper, anyway, so I don’t mind being woken up.”

“I usually am,” Hux says. “A light sleeper, I mean. Both a side effect of growing up on Star Destroyers and working long hours as an adult _._ I suppose I’ve been catching up on the years of lost sleep in these past few weeks. That’s”—Hux grimaces—“not very good pillow talk, is it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Ben admits, “and who cares if it’s not? There's no one here to judge. It’s just us.” He leans in towards Hux, bringing his face closer to his, but Hux puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

Hux crinkles his face. “I don’t think you want to kiss me first thing in the morning.”

“Hmm.” Ben pretends to consider it for a beat, then grins. “I think I do.”

“Don’t blame me when––”

Ben silences him with a slow, chaste kiss, nuzzling his nose against Hux’s when he pulls away.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No,” Hux agrees, already leaning forward again with his eyes half-lidded.

Ben gives in, pulling Hux all the way to him by his forearms. Hux gasps at the sudden movement, parting his lips, and Ben takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth. He tastes bitter, the remnants of sleep still on his tongue, but instead of being put off by it Ben almost finds it endearing; the sharp tang reminds him this isn’t some sweet dream – this is _real._ He tightens his grip on Hux’s forearms and tugs forward in invitation. Hux accepts; he climbs into Ben’s lap without breaking the kiss, knees bracketing Ben on either side. Ben slides his hands up Hux’s arms to his shoulders, massaging them once lightly before trailing his hands down Hux’s chest and settling on his waist.

Hux begins to do some exploring of his own. He tentatively places his hands on Ben’s stomach muscles to trace a path up his chest until a thumb brushes against his nipple––the touch elicits a groan from Ben, and his cock begins to harden. Falling back onto the bed, Ben pulls Hux down with him so that Hux is straddling his waist.

They’re interrupted by a knock on the door: four loud, impatient taps that kills Ben’s growing erection immediately. Hux jumps off him as if whomever it is will burst through the door and plasters himself against the wall like he can camouflage himself there.

Ben sighs in frustration and gets off the cot, not bothering to put a shirt on over his pants to answer the door. At least the bed is out of sight of the doorframe, meaning that Hux’s ridiculous hiding spot actually does conceal him.

Ben opens the door just as another series of knocks start and finds Korr Sella on the other side, hand raised and ready to knock again.

“Good morning, Ben!” she says cheerily, not deterred by his state of undress. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“No, you didn’t.” Ben tries not to grumble like a guilty child. “What can I do for you, Korr?”

“I was wondering if you’d seen Hux this morning?” she asks, a far too innocent smile plastered on her face.

Ben can feel Hux’s spike of fear from across the room––he’s uncomfortable with the idea of people knowing about them. Ben tries not to take it personally.

“No,” Ben lies. It seems to pacify Hux a little.

“Well, if you do see him”—Korr winks at Ben—“tell him I wanted to run through my presentation with him one more time before I leave. I’ll be waiting in the mess hall.”

He nods and waves her off, shutting the door as soon as she turns away. When he turns, Hux has jumped off the bed and is trying to adjust his clothes so they don’t look so dishevelled (a futile effort, since he slept in them). He runs a hand through his hair, putting it in some semblance of order, and only then does he notice Ben looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” Hux says. “I told you, I need––”

“Time, yes,” Ben dismisses. “Time before you feel ready to tell anyone. That’s fine.”

Hux frowns at him for a moment, obviously noticing the sullenness in Ben’s tone. He steps forward and presses a kiss to Ben’s cheek. “Thank you. I’ll go help Korr, now. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things to do. I will…” He pauses, hesitates on the right thing to say. “I will see you later?”

Ben nods and Hux leaves.

He’s right, of course: Ben _does_ have an extensive list of things to do today, most of them of the highest priority. He shouldn’t have let himself get so distracted. Though he has no idea what to say, he’ll go to Leia first and think on how to phrase everything on the walk over. He’ll get breakfast at some point and check in with Enyo once she’s spoken with Jaina––which will probably be soon anyway, since they’re both early risers. He’ll have to discuss with Enyo and Tanma how to break the news to Jacen and Dar, who are not likely to take it well. (Jacen, in particular, will take some convincing to go ahead with his trials without his sister.) And to top the list Ben has to train, making sure he’s in optimal condition for the oncoming battles.

Hux should not be a distraction; Ben should be focusing on Resistance and Jedi business, and Hux should be the reward Ben allows himself to indulge in _after_ work. He _should_ promise himself he won’t let it happen again.

He finds he cannot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings (spoilers!): explicit sexual content (mutual masturbation and oral sex), brief mention of suspected disordered eating
> 
> so you may have noticed there's a shiny new total chapter count of 15 – this is based on my current outline but i may end up splitting one of the chapters into two. there is still much of this story to tell and there are things as yet unaddressed, but they will be :)
> 
> thank you for all the lovely comments, i will try to get better about answering them but they do mean the world to me <3 and as always, all the love to [Gefionne](http://gefionne.tumblr.com) for beta-ing!!


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